Daddy
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, ZA. "Daryl's favorite job was being Daddy, but he hadn't always been Daddy." Mandrea secondary ship.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: What is this? I guess it's a oneshot. I wanted all the fluffies and empressmcbride on Tumblr wanted "Daddy Daryl" and "happy family fluff." She wanted a dash of toddler Sophia and when I asked her if there was any particular universe she wanted something from, she offered over the ZA. So here it is. I don't know what it is except a piece of utter fluff that I hope empressmcbride (and anyone else who chooses to read it) enjoys! I appreciate the prompt for the fluffies because, right now, I'm in the mood for all the fluffies.**

 **Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Daddy!"

Daryl put his finger over his lips and hissed at the little girl to be quiet. He couldn't be too harsh with her, though, because she smiled at him—showing him every one of the teeth that she'd acquired so far in life—and he couldn't help but smile back. She laughed to herself, her laugh already sounding a great deal like her mother's, and called out to him again.

"Daddy!" She declared. Her voice echoed in the cell and Daryl hissed at her again. Her eyes went wide, but she didn't start to cry. Instead, she simply half-heartedly pressed her finger to her lips and said, "whoops, daddy, whoops!"

Daryl reached her and pulled her up out of the pack and play prison that held her confined. He rested her on his hip and she leaned into him and rested her head against him. She offered him the best hug she could and he squeezed her in response.

"I'm hungry," she informed him the best that she could. He was accustomed to her speech, though, and he could understand everything she had to say no matter how full her mouth was of fingers or food.

"I know it," Daryl said. "You been awake more'n three seconds, you hungry. And I'ma break you outta here—but you gotta be quiet. Let'cha Ma sleep a lil' bit, OK?"

"Milk," she offered, before Daryl shushed her again and started their great escape from the cell. He hoped to get out without waking the other small child in the cell and, from there, accidentally waking everyone in the entire prison.

"You gonna have to wait on that," Daryl said. "At least—ya Ma's. I'll get'cha some warm milk. Don't worry."

Sophia seemed satisfied with Daryl's promise of milk and—even though he hadn't promised it, it was understood—breakfast. She should probably be weaned at her age, but the fact of the matter was that food was sometimes tricky to come by. They were doing well now, but Carol held onto the memory of times they'd gone without. Carol continued to nurse Sophia enough to keep herself producing milk because she feared finding themselves without food. Even if she was starving, at least she could keep her daughter going a little longer while they searched if she could offer her milk.

Daryl didn't argue with that logic. Not one little bit.

Daryl carried Sophia's clothes with him to the entrance of the prison and he dressed her quickly by the door. She was not entirely unaccustomed to the ritual and she cooperated because she knew that, once he had wrestled her into her clothes and jacket, she would be released to enjoy her freedom until he'd finished her breakfast.

When she was dressed, and Daryl was sure she'd be sufficiently warm against the chill of the autumn air outside—Daryl opened the prison door and carried her out in his arms. When the door closed behind them, he lowered her to the ground and rested her feet there.

Given her freedom, she stomped her shoes on the ground and pranced around for a moment. She was oddly always happy to hear the crunch of the pieces of loose gravel beneath her little shoes—and she liked looking at the pair of pink shoes that Daryl had found her to the point that she often had to be reminded to look where she was going while wearing them.

This time she didn't need to be reminded to look up. She looked up at Daryl and smiled, flashing every one of her teeth for him again and crinkling her nose in the same manner that her mother did when she smiled at him a certain way. Daryl smiled to himself.

"Alright," he said. "Get. Them chickens won't chase themselves."

"Daddy..." Sophia said, her smile dropping suddenly.

"I know," Daryl said, before she could even remind him of what she feared he'd forgotten. "You hungry. But I got to get the fire goin' 'fore I can get the water goin' to get your oatmeal goin', don't I?"

Her eyes, like her mother's, seemed to have the ability to grow two or three sizes whenever she looked at him a certain way. Her mother's eyes were blue, and Sophia's eyes were brown, but they were the same eyes where it mattered.

Daryl smiled at her and shook his head.

"I wouldn't never forget your breakfast, Sophia," Daryl assured her. "Now—go chase them chickens awake an' I'ma get it ready for you. Get'cha some milk 'fore while we waitin' on the water. That sound ok?"

Sophia nodded at him.

"Thanks, Daddy," she said.

Daryl swallowed and nodded.

"You welcome," he said. "Go on, now."

Daryl's favorite job was being Daddy, but he hadn't always been Daddy.

Part of the reason for that, of course, was that Sophia was only somewhere around three years old. Part of the reason for that was because, before she could ever say Daddy as clearly as she said it now, she had simply stuck to the almost primitive sounding "DaDa" or, even more simply, "Da" to call Daryl. Part of the reason was that, when she began to call him "Da," it was very likely that she'd been trying to mimic the sound of his name and hadn't actually been referring to him as her father.

Daryl wasn't Sophia's father. At least, he hadn't been the man that had planted the seed in her mother's belly that had grown to be the little girl that he loved like the sun and moon now.

When Daryl had first seen Sophia, she'd been a baby riding in a bundle that was strapped to her mother's chest. She was small and frail and surely not fit to survive the world into which she'd been thrust.

Daryl's stomach churned when he remembered the earliest days at a camp outside Atlanta. With an infant almost always strapped to her chest, Carol still worked hard to care for the group and, beyond that, she worked to serve her husband—a man who seemed to appreciate nothing. With an infant almost always strapped to her chest, she'd shown up nearly every morning to cook breakfast, and she'd been wearing new bruises that he'd given to her the night before—bruises she would swear came from accidents that had mysteriously stopped happening after the asshole had taken a pitchfork through his brain.

It had seemed like so many of them had been against Sophia back then. Mostly when Carol wasn't around they'd grumbled about the baby and the fact that she made noises at inappropriate times. They'd complained about their worries that she'd call a herd of Walkers down on them.

Walkers, the ambulatory dead that had now inherited the Earth, were drawn to sound. A baby, they'd argued, was one of the worst things to have.

It was never fair to call Sophia one of the worst things that could happen to everyone.

Yet Daryl had even heard Sophia's father say something to Carol about the fact that Sophia was just another mouth to feed and a risk to their safety. She'd end up being eaten anyway. Daryl had caught only snatches of the conversation, but given that Carol's sobs had issued forth from the tent for most of the night, Daryl was pretty sure that the asshole had suggested simply going ahead and ridding themselves of the little girl to save them the trouble.

It wasn't Sophia that had gotten gobbled up by the dead, though, the night that a herd had attacked the camp. She'd been about six months old then, and she'd screamed with the rest of them when the dead had come, but her mother had done her best to hold them back and Daryl had helped pick up the slack where he could. Sophia's father, Ed, hadn't been so lucky. He'd been sleeping and, more than likely, they'd killed him long before they'd even made it to the center of the camp.

There had hardly been enough left of the sorry asshole to use for identification. Nobody had missed him at all, least of all Carol and Sophia.

Sophia hadn't begun to call Daryl "DaDa" then, though.

Eventually they lost the camp. They travelled to the CDC and found temporary safety there, but they'd lost that too. They'd found a farm, and they'd settled there against the wishes of the farmer who owned the place—a man who would, eventually, become a member of their family.

Sophia had just started chattering a few words—her favorites being "mama" and a variation of "milk"—when the fever had swept through the farm. They were relatively safe from Walkers there, but they weren't safe from the elements. Daryl had watched, from a distance, feeling helpless as Carol had desperately nursed and cared for her sick baby. He'd fallen asleep in the tent near hers, listening to her sob pathetically over the fear that the rasping breathing of her daughter would simply stop.

He'd stolen a horse and ridden to an overrun town in search of antibiotics—and he hadn't stopped until he'd found them nearly two towns away. The journey had taken him off-road a good bit to avoid the fact that the towns were crowded with Walkers, and a snake had spooked his horse. He'd been injured in the spill he took, thanks to the fact he'd been wearing a quiver full of bolts at the time and had been riding too close to the edge of a gorge cut by a Georgia waterway, but he'd caught the damned horse, bound his wounds, and continued on.

Upon his return to the camp, bloodied and carrying the hard-earned antibiotics, he had actually told everyone else in the group that was sick—and they remembered it with laughter now, though they hadn't laughed when he'd said it—that they could literally suck on his shit-stained asshole if they thought he was giving them the antibiotics. He'd given them, in the past, the ones his brother had left behind when he'd left the group. He'd done his part to help them, but they'd done next to nothing to help Carol. They had other group members that they were more concerned with—namely their so-called leader's family. Of course, Daryl had accepted that, mostly because he'd had no other choice, but he'd let them know that if they were playing by the game of "each to his own," then he was playing it too. He'd eventually given them what was left, but only after he was sure that Carol and Sophia were both quite well.

The first night he'd overseen the old man—a veterinarian by trade and the closest thing to a doctor they had—dosing the baby, he'd fallen asleep in the room with Carol. Absolutely nothing had happened between them except the fact that he'd fallen asleep—dosed with pain killers for the wound in his side that had been stitched up.

Daryl still remembered the soft kiss that Carol had offered him the next morning after she informed him that Sophia was resting—really resting—and her fever was broken.

Perhaps that was the moment that Daryl had started to become "Daddy," even though it was a long time in reaching what it was today.

Today was what mattered, though. Daryl would trade most every "yesterday" he'd ever known for "today," in fact. He honestly felt like every day that came was just a little better than the one before.

Daryl offered Sophia the cup of milk that he'd promised her after he'd gotten the fire started and a pot going over it for breakfast, milked one of the cows, and found Sophia's favorite cup. He waved her over and sat down on the ground before he handed the cup over. Sophia took it in both her hands.

"Thanks, Daddy," she said, smiling at him. She hugged the sippy cup to her chest like a bear and then she walked a circle around Daryl like she was surveying him. Finally, she turned around and backed rather clumsily into him, dropping down to a sitting position when she took her own legs out from under herself by running into him. Daryl caught her so that she didn't spill to the ground and steadied her. She turned up her sippy cup and greedily drank her milk like a hard-working person downing a beer after a hot day.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You welcome, Soph," Daryl offered. "Is it good?"

Sophia hummed at him in the affirmative and then, with milk dribbling down her chin," she twisted around enough to offer him the sippy cup. Daryl laughed to himself.

"No thanks, Soph," Daryl said. "But it means a lot that you was willin' to share with me."

"I'm hungry," Sophia offered.

Daryl laughed again.

"I know you hungry, Soph," Daryl said. "But a watched pot never boils an' it's gotta boil for you to get'cha oatmeal. I'm sorry we was the first ones up an' nobody had you somethin' ready the minute you opened your eyes."

Her bottom lip rolled out.

"Never?" She mimicked the word the best she could. She understood the word meant a very long time. She also understood that was a good thing when they used it for things like the fact that they'd never leave her, but it was a bad thing when it was attached to discussion about her breakfast.

"Didn't mean it like that," Daryl said quickly. "Mean—that pot don't warm itself up too quick over that fire. And if we sit here worryin' it, it's gonna take longer. Only thing to do, Soph, is to sit here an' enjoy your milk an' don't think about the pot. Then the pot can warm quicker—OK? Get'cha breakfast sooner, OK?"

"Quick, quick!" Sophia declared, dancing around on Daryl's leg and making him wince against the bite of baby tail-bone grinding into his leg.

"Quick," he echoed. "That's it. Now—I done forgot their names. Who was them chickens called again?"

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders as she stepped out of the prison and the fresh air of the morning greeted her. She shivered. It wasn't too cold. It was really just pleasantly chilly. It was honestly a welcomed respite from the almost unbearable heat of summer.

She looked out across the prison yard that had come to be home to their extended family. They'd worked hard to reinforce the fences against the Walkers that pressed down on them. They'd built various sorts of "wind breaks" and such that slowed the Walkers down as they trickled toward the fences. They'd planted crops, trapped and domesticated animals for food and labor, and they were working toward outfitting the place with solar panels.

When the spring broke on them, they'd work to expand their fence lines and push the Walkers even further away from them.

There was a lot of work to be done, but nobody rushed to get out of bed on these cool mornings. The work would be there. It wasn't going anywhere.

Carol loved the mornings, though, despite the fact that she was exhausted and didn't feel the best that she could possibly feel.

Daryl loved the mornings too, and he was usually one of the first people awake. Sophia was usually the very first person awake, though. She beat them all up nearly every day and often sounded the alarm that morning had come.

It wasn't hard to find Daryl. He was sitting near the cast iron cooking pot that would be bubbling away with oatmeal before long. From the smell of it, he was cooking meat on the other small fire that he was tending at his side. It was rabbit. Carol could identify it immediately from the smell that wafted through with the smoke. It turned her stomach, but she did her best to swallow it down. Her stomach was empty. She'd have no contents of which to rid it if even if she wanted to.

While Daryl cooked breakfast, Sophia sat on her knees a few feet away from the fires and worked on something she seemed to be intently focused on. It appeared to Carol that she was arranging rocks on the ground, but it was clearly serious work. She stopped in her labors, once, to pick up the sippy cup that she treasured. She turned it up and then wiped her mouth with her hand, dramatically, before she returned the cup to the ground and went back to her rocks. She called out to Daryl and, when he responded, she garbled something to him that only the two of them could understand—and if Daryl couldn't understand it, then he did a fine job of convincing the small child that he could.

They didn't notice Carol until she was almost on top of them, and then it was only the crunch of some pebbles beneath her shoes that gave her away. Sophia glanced at her and offered her a toothy grin, but she didn't abandon her rock work.

"Hi Mama!" Sophia declared.

"Hi, baby," Carol responded. "Good morning, Sophia," she added, hoping her daughter would pick up some version of the words soon. Sophia simply smiled and returned to what she was doing.

"What?" Daryl asked. "No good mornin', baby, for me?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"Good morning to you too, baby," she said. "Good morning to all my babies."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You sound like you overrun or somethin'," he teased.

Carol laughed to herself, but not as much at his joke as he thought.

"How's breakfast coming?" Carol asked.

"It's cookin'," Daryl said. "It'll be ready soon. Nobody else up yet?"

"Just us," Carol said.

"Lazy assholes," Daryl said with a laugh. He wasn't sincerely angry about it. He hadn't been angry in—Carol couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Daryl genuinely angry with the members of their self-made family. He'd spoken his piece, once, some time ago and then he'd reached something of an understanding with everyone in their extended family. He didn't appreciate the way that some people seemed to be more important than others, even though he understood that was the way that things had always been, and he wasn't willing to bust his ass if "him and his," as he'd put it, weren't going to receive the same benefits as "them and theirs."

It had changed a lot of the way that things had been run in the group, though some things never changed entirely, and Daryl hadn't had too much reason to be mad at anyone or anything inside their home for a while.

He was, in all honesty, a very easy-going person and Carol appreciated that more than she could ever say. He was the greatest contrast to her ex-husband that she could possibly find. He seemed to genuinely love her and appreciate everything about her. He treated everything she did for him like a special gift. He treasured her daughter—their daughter—even though she was truthfully not his responsibility.

He had been patient with Carol and, rather than scold her for what she didn't know, he'd taught her a great number of things that she needed to survive their world. Because of him, she could hold her own next to anyone in their family.

And though they weren't officially married—because, perhaps, he feared the idea of marriage for what it had represented to him, growing up in a home where an angry father had taken his frustrations at the world out on his sons and wife—he was the best partner that Carol could imagine.

And even though he feared that his relation to that hateful father would lead him to be a man that he didn't want to be, and that he might, somehow, follow in his father's footsteps—he was a wonderful Daddy.

And he would be a wonderful Daddy.

Even if Carol hadn't let him know, just yet, about the little secret she was keeping.

Carol eased down next to him and he put his arm around her and hugged her close to him. She rearranged her shawl and got comfortable so that she could rest her head against him. She groaned at the smell of the rabbit that he forked with his free hand and turned on the pan near him.

"That smells horrible," she said.

He laughed to himself.

"You like rabbit," he said.

"Not right now, I don't," Carol said.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked.

"Just doesn't smell good," Carol said. "I'll eat the oatmeal, though, when it's ready."

"Soph'll sure gnaw her a piece of rabbit," Daryl said with a laugh. Carol swallowed back her desire to be sick over just the thought. "I done let her have a little cooled piece. She'll be satisfied for a bit. I wanted you to sleep some. I know you didn't sleep good last night. What got'cha up?"

"Just not feeling well," Carol said.

"I hope you ain't comin' down with something," Daryl mused. "Some bug or somethin'."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I don't think it's a bug," she said. "In fact—I'm certain it isn't."

"All I know is you ain't been sleepin' good," Daryl said. "An' it's that time of year that people gonna start comin' down with things."

Carol laughed to herself again. She wiggled around, leaning closer against him. He didn't mind. He let her burrow into him. He could manage to hold her, keep an eye on the breakfast, and entertain Sophia when she called out to him without even blinking an eye.

"I know it's that time of year," Carol said. "But I also know what I've come down with. And—maybe I haven't mentioned it because it's going to be a long winter cooped up in that prison and I know you've got the potential to be absolutely insufferable."

Daryl sat up and furrowed his brow at her. She offered him a smile to let him know that she was teasing him and some of his concern melted away, but certainly not all of it.

"What you talkin' about?" Daryl asked.

"Daddy!" Sophia declared, snatching his attention momentarily. "Look!"

"That's a beetle bug," Daryl said. "Put him down, Soph. Don't smash him 'tween your fingers. He's got him a beetle bug family he's gotta get home to."

Sophia's bottom lip rolled out.

"Home?" She asked.

"He's gotta go home," Daryl said.

Sophia put the bug down. She was fearless over most things like that. It resulted in her bringing a great deal of slithering, crawling, creepy things into the prison. Thankfully, Daryl was pretty good at getting them out again, and he was pretty good at teaching her when to be careful around things. She was still learning, though, that much was certain.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Sophia declared when she put the bug down and quickly realized, much to her horror, that she'd already smashed it. It didn't try to run away when she pushed it with her finger, so she gathered it up again and, crying out in pain and agony that only a small child can know over a tragedy so great, she barreled toward Daryl. She avoided Carol entirely for a second and slammed into Daryl, offering him apologies and the bug corpse as she begged him to "fix it."

Daryl pushed her off of him and wiped at her eyes with the palm of his hand. He held the bug corpse in his other hand.

"Sorry, Soph, but there ain't no fixin' this," Daryl said. "He's just—gone."

"He goes home!" Sophia declared.

Daryl laughed to himself, but quickly swallowed his laughter because Sophia wouldn't appreciate it while lost in the throes of agony.

"He's gone home, Soph," Daryl said. "Just a different kinda home. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry," Sophia said, truly sounding heartbroken over the loss of her very temporary friend.

"I know you sorry," Daryl said. "It ain't nothin' but an old beetle bug, Soph. Just don't smash the next one, but it ain't nothin' to be sore about."

"You fix it?" Sophia asked again.

"Can't fix it," Daryl said. "But—tell you what. After breakfast, we'll have him a nice lil' funeral, OK? Bury him—bury him over there by the guard tower, OK? Real nice. You an' me an' ya Ma. Send him off to a different kinda home. Would that be OK?"

Sophia had to understand death on a different level, perhaps, than children ever had to before. She was surrounded by it, literally, and it had a very different meaning than it once had. She nodded solemnly at Daryl and he told her to go get her milk and play a little more. Soon it would be time for breakfast. Carol watched as Sophia, already feeling lighter, walked back toward where she'd left her cup. Daryl carefully put the beetle down where he could find it later.

"Are you really going to have a funeral for a beetle?" Carol asked.

"I reckon I am," Daryl said. "If it'll make her feel better. Not so sorry."

Carol placed a kiss on his cheek.

"You're a good Daddy," Carol offered.

His face lit up at the compliment.

"It's nothin' nobody else wouldn't do," Daryl said.

"I can think of a few," Carol offered.

"Rick would do it for his kids," Daryl said, referencing their leader as though he were someone who had fatherhood all figured out—a man who had a rocky relationship with every member of his family from time to time.

"You're every bit as good a Daddy as Rick," Carol said. "Better, if you want to know my opinion." She cleared her throat. "And—you're only going to get better at the job."

Daryl's cheeks were pink with the praise.

"I just—do what I can for Soph," Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself.

Daryl wasn't great at picking up on things. If she wanted him to know something, she had to be straightforward about it. She had to come right out and say it. She couldn't help but smile at him when he looked at her.

"What's so damned funny?" He asked with no genuine bite to his words.

"You do what you can for Sophia," Carol said. "And you do it well. You're the best Daddy she could ever...and I mean ever...hope to have. And I already know, Daryl, that you're going to be the best Daddy that our baby could ever ask for."

Daryl swallowed. His face changed colors again.

"If we...if it ever..." he said. He shrugged his shoulders and let his words drop. He moved away from Carol enough to move the meat off the fire.

"How does—maybe spring sound to you?" Carol asked.

Daryl looked at her.

She smiled. She nodded her head gently.

His mouth fell open as realization sunk in. He blanched.

"Spring?" He asked.

"Around there," Carol said.

"You mean...?"

Carol nodded again.

He made something that Carol could only describe as a choking sound. He wasn't eating anything, though, so he was choking on spit if he was choking at all.

"You OK, Daddy?" Carol asked.

His eyes were wide. Carol wasn't sure that he wasn't going to cry. She wasn't sure, either, for a split second what was going through his mind. He practically dived at her, though, and pulled her into his arms. She was sure he had to hurt his knees in the strange leap he'd done over the hard ground, but he didn't complain about it.

"You mean?" He asked again.

"Yeah," Carol said, hugging him back. "But I meant what I said—don't be insufferable. Or too suffocating, OK?"

Daryl choked out a laugh. He pulled away. His cheeks were damp, but Carol didn't draw attention to it. He shook his head at her.

"No ma'am," he said. "Just—just sufferable enough. Just—just suffocatin' enough."

Carol laughed.

"That sounds perfect," she said. "And—just like you."

The way Daryl was looking at her made Carol's throat ache. She'd never imagined anyone looking at her like that—with that much awe in their eyes. She could feel a tremble run through him and into her as he held his arms around her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Carol asked.

"It's been you that's—brought everything good into my life," Daryl said. "And every time—I'm thinkin' that it don't get no better? It seems like you find a way to make it just that much more better."

Carol smiled at him.

"That's exactly how I feel about you," Carol offered. She laughed to herself and winked at him when Sophia called his name, headed back toward the two of them with her sippy cup and a new toy that she'd found—a rock that was of particular interest.

"Daddy! I'm hungry!" Sophia called.

"She's a Daddy's girl," Carol offered. "Duty calls."

Daryl laughed to himself.

He leaned over and kissed Carol. The kiss was sweet and it said everything that Carol needed to hear. He smiled at her again when he pulled away.

"Mama!" Sophia barked, practically climbing over Carol to try to get in between them and gain the attention of both of them. "Mama! You hungry, too, Mama? You hungry?"

Sophia's concern, though she pretended it was about Carol, was not at all about Carol.

"Alright," Daryl said. He pulled away from Carol, got to his feet and reached his hands down to Sophia. "Come on, Soph. Let's go get the bowls. We'll sit out here an' eat our breakfast with your Ma."

As he started to walk off with her to get the bowls, Sophia looked over his shoulder and called out to Carol.

Carol smiled at her and waved.

"Go with Daddy, Sophia," Carol said. She fixed her shawl again and sighed, happy to wait for their return. Around her, she could hear sounds of the rest of the family waking up. They would all soon be coming to get something to eat. Carol smiled to herself. "Go with Daddy," she said quietly to herself since Sophia and Daryl were already inside the prison gathering bowls. "He'll take care of you. He'll take care of all of us."

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

 **AN: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!**

 **I'm in the mood for some fluffies, so if you've got anything in mind, just let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Here's this. I guess I have nothing to say for myself except I wanted to write it, so I did. I won't' promise it'll be the last piece here (and it probably won't be). It's just self-indulgent fluffies.**

 **If you read it, though, then I hope you enjoy it!**

 **Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Daddy!"

Daryl heard the familiar sound not a few feet behind him and he stopped his forward progress. He turned around to see Sophia trotting after him as fast her little legs would carry her. She was barely able to keep her balance as she struggled to hold onto the snuggly blanket and toy combo that she was carrying with her while she ran.

Daryl's heart caught in his chest with the nervous feeling that he was seconds away from seeing her take a bad tumble—the kind that would skin a knee or a hand and leave her wailing. He could practically see the blanket part of the toy getting tangled around her legs, and it would all be because she feared that he would leave her behind.

"Slow down, Soph!" Daryl barked. "Stop runnin'! I'm waitin' on ya. Ain't goin' nowhere."

It was true. Daryl wasn't going anywhere. At least, he wasn't going anywhere important. He was headed down to the pigpen because that's where he imagined Rick might be. Of course, in Sophia's world, the pigpen was a wondrous place. They had some fairly small little pigs that had been born out of season and Sophia loved to get in there and pretend to be one of the litter.

Sophia slowed down at Daryl's words and toddled like she was half-drunk to meet him. She held her arms up, tired after her trot, as she neared Daryl. He reached down and scooped her up, resting her against his hip.

"I thought your Ma told you not to take the lamb outta the prison no more after the last time you left it outside," Daryl said, touching the snuggly toy that she held to her chest to direct her to what he was talking about.

The lamb was essentially a head with a blanket body. Sophia had a collection of snuggly toys—all of which she loved with a great deal of devotion—but the lamb was particularly special. She liked to trail it around with her everywhere. The action meant that Carol spent a good deal of her time washing the thing and assuring Sophia that she could have it back when it dried. Once, Sophia had taken the lamb outside with her and had left it somewhere. It wasn't until bedtime that she realized that she couldn't find it. She'd kept the whole prison awake by screaming bloody murder over the thought of sleeping without it. Daryl had bumped around in the dark for half a night trying to retrace the steps of a toddler by flashlight until he'd finally found the lamb hung over the fence at the horse's pen. Since then, Carol had forbidden Sophia to take the lamb outside, but it appeared that Sophia had made her great escape with the toy.

Sophia frowned at Daryl's question and shook her head. She hugged her toy closer to her. Daryl laughed to himself.

"I guess it don't hurt nothin'," he said. "Just hold onto him."

Daryl wasn't going to rat her out or take her toy. Instead, he simply made a mental note that he'd put in some special effort to find another one—or at least something similar—the next time he was on a run. It couldn't hurt to have a backup.

They'd have to do a run soon, after all. He and Carol were going to need things when their little one made its debut.

Their little one was the reason for Daryl's impromptu trip to the pigpen to see Rick.

Daryl had been imagining their little one for just over twenty-four hours now. It had been one whole day since he'd known that the child was actually in existence. To look at Carol, he'd never know it. She was thin—too thin in Daryl's opinion, and that was something he planned to remedy—and showed no signs of carrying a child. Still, she promised him that the little one was there and that he had been there, more than likely, for a couple of months. Only Hershel knew about the baby, and the only reason that he'd found out about him before Daryl had was because Carol had wanted to be sure about the little thing before she broke that kind of news to Daryl.

It was something he'd dreamed of, but he'd never imagined it might actually happen.

Sharing in Sophia's life was one of the most special things that he could imagine, and he never wanted her to feel like he didn't love her with everything he had, but he also dreamed of actually having a child with Carol.

He wanted all of it. He wanted every possible experience with Carol that he could have. He wanted everything he saw that Rick had with Lori.

He wanted more, because there were things that happened between Rick and Lori that Daryl swore to himself would never happen with his family.

 _His family_.

Family was the most beautiful word that ever he'd heard since his family had come to mean Carol and Sophia.

Somewhere out there, he imagined he might still have a brother—he liked to pretend that he hadn't actually died after he'd cut his hand off to escape a rooftop in Atlanta—but Daryl's experience with family had always been a bit rocky before. He'd always dreamed of the perfect picture book family, but he'd never imagined that was in the cards for him.

Then Carol had come into his life bringing Sophia, and she'd given him that. Now, it seemed, she was determined to give him even more.

And Daryl had her blessing to start to share the news when it pleased him.

He wanted desperately to share it, too. He could taste it on his tongue. He wanted everyone to know that he and Carol were going to build their family.

They'd all talked, after all, about the possibility of more babies after Rick's daughter, Judith, had been born. They'd spoken about it as something inevitable. There would be more babies. Their extended family would grow. There would be more life to fill the fences of the prison.

It had always felt, though, like they weren't talking about Daryl and Carol. Yet, here they were, the first that would be announcing their new arrival.

Riding Sophia on his hip, Daryl practically danced down the hill toward the pigpens. Sophia laughed at the bounce in his step, and he hammed it up for her benefit. He stopped once to toss her up and bounce her dramatically, and she begged him to repeat the action. He repeated it only once, not wanting to scramble the lunch that he knew she'd only recently eaten. She would, after all, spit it up everywhere if she was jostled too much and too soon. She had a sensitive stomach, a bit like her mother at times.

Of course Daryl was starting to wonder if Carol's recently sensitive stomach was more owing to the little Dixon that she harbored instead of a simple predisposition to parting company with her meals.

Daryl would have never imagined that thinking of something so base would bring a smile to his face, but it did—oddly enough.

At the pigpens, Sophia begged to be put down and Daryl stopped her before she could trot off.

"Gimme the lamb," he said.

She whined at him and hugged the toy. She was ready for a nap. Carol had probably meant to put her down and had gotten momentarily distracted. Sophia had probably escaped. She was trying to skip her nap for a game with the piglets, and it would mean that she was grumpy for the rest of the day.

It wouldn't be the first time, though. Daryl wiggled his fingers at her.

"You don't want him gettin' all piggy smellin' an' muddy, Soph," Daryl insisted. "I'll keep him here with me. Keep him safe. I promise."

Sophia finally relinquished the lamb, eye-balling Daryl like she wanted him to be sure that he knew that she was trusting him with a prized possession. He tossed the thing over his shoulder to carry it with him so that she could see it was safe. As soon as he gave her permission to go, she trotted forward, slipped under the lowest rail of the fence, and practically dived into the mud.

Daryl knew, already, that he'd be responsible for her bath.

It didn't take long at all to find Rick. His work with the pigs was done, but he stood simply watching them as he leaned against the fence railing. He smiled when Sophia came into sight and then he smiled when he glanced in Daryl's direction.

"She's going to be terribly sad when we eat those pigs," Rick pointed out.

"She understands stuff like that," Daryl said. "We eat everythin' else. She knows it's temporary an' them animals ain't pets. Still—don't mean she don't like playin' with 'em while she can."

"You and Carol—you're doing a good job raising her to understand this world," Rick said. "You don't shelter her. That's a good thing."

"Shelterin' her ain't gonna keep her alive," Daryl said. "I guess that's the most important thing. Helpin' her know what's what—helpin' her handle it. That's what's gonna see her to a ripe old age. That's what the hell we want."

"I hope we can prepare Judith the same way," Rick said.

He didn't sound convinced that they could. Maybe, Daryl thought, he was just doubting his ability to agree with his wife on how they should handle things. Rick and Lori had more troubles than they had happy times these days. Daryl figured that the only reason that they weren't divorced was because the prison wasn't really large enough for them to live separately. They'd still have to interact with each other. At least for the time being, it was probably just easier to stay married.

"Lil' Asskicker ain't but a couple months old, Rick," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "There's still some time for her to learn the hard lessons about life. Soph—she's seen a bit more'n Jude."

"Yeah," Rick mused. "She was born here. Inside the fences. She doesn't know the life on the road that Sophia's seen—herds and travelling every day. She's lucky."

"She is," Daryl echoed. "This place we got. It's a good thing."

"It is," Rick echoed.

"That's kinda what I come down here to talk to you about," Daryl said.

Rick furrowed his brow at him.

"Judith?" Rick asked. "Or the prison?"

"Both an' neither," Daryl said quickly. "You know we was—well—we was talkin' about growin' this place with the spring. Bigger fences. More safety. Bringin' people in, even, if we can find 'em around. Growin' this place in every sense of the word."

"I seem to recall that conversation," Rick said with a laugh. "I recall that some were against it."

Daryl shook his head, knowing fully that Rick was talking about him.

"Not against it," he said. "Just—cautious about new people until we figure out how we gonna vet 'em an' how we gonna handle 'em. We know they's gotta be people around, but we gotta have somethin' in place to make sure this place stays safe. We got a lot ridin' on it."

"Carl. Judith. Sophia," Rick ticked off.

"An' even more'n that," Daryl said. "But we talked about—about how it's all gonna grow natural like, too. You an' Lori had Asskicker. It's gonna grow. Our numbers are gonna grow."

"Yeah," Rick said. "I imagine that it won't be too long before Glenn and Maggie are ready to add to the family."

"I wasn't talkin' about them, Rick," Daryl said.

Rick furrowed his brow at Daryl and Daryl found it difficult to swallow for just a moment. He had only just learned about the baby, but he felt like he'd waited a lifetime to say this. Now he couldn't find the words.

"What are you trying to say, Daryl?" Rick pressed. "Are you and Carol thinking about..."

"Not thinkin' about," Daryl said quickly. "We are. In the spring. Lil' thing's no bigger'n a minute right now but it's there."

A smile immediately broke across Rick's face. Maybe he even blushed, though it was difficult to tell under the dirt of the day and the growth of his beard. He embraced Daryl and Daryl happily accepted it. Daryl didn't try to hold back his own smile when they pulled out of the hug.

"How about that," Rick said. "I didn't expect it, honestly."

"I got the feelin' nobody was expectin' it when we was talkin' about growin' this place," Daryl said. "Just the same..."

"Congratulations," Rick said sincerely. The word sounded like music in Daryl's ears and he smiled at it.

"Don't want'cha to tell nobody," Daryl said. "Not even Lori. Carol wants to do some tellin' an' I don't wanna steal her thunder none. But—she told me I could start to tell, too."

Rick nodded his head.

"My lips are sealed until you tell me it's free to discuss," Rick said.

"Wanted to talk to you about the next run. Wanna go out soon. Carol's gonna need some things. I wanna get her whatever she needs. I don't want her havin' no worries," Daryl said.

Rick nodded.

"Whatever you want. Whenever you want," he said.

"Gimme a day or two," Daryl said. "Let it sink in good for her an' get her to make a list. Give her time to think."

"She'll want to nest," Rick said.

"She can build whatever she's got a mind to build," Daryl said. "She can have a nest if that's what she wants."

Rick laughed to himself.

"How about that?" He mused. "A baby. A Dixon baby. I never would've thought of you as a Daddy the first time I met you. But—here you are. A baby on the way."

"I'm already Daddy," Daryl said quickly.

"I didn't mean anything by it," Rick said.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Just want everyone to be clear," Daryl said. "I don't want—I don't want it makin' Soph feel no kinda way. I'm her Daddy every bit as much as I can be."

Rick nodded his understanding.

"I meant—here you are becoming a Daddy again."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah—again. And—we pretty excited."

"Sophia's proof that you'll both do great at it," Rick said. "But—can I give my congratulations to Carol? Even though we're keeping things quiet?"

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Just do it quiet like."

Rick nodded.

"Congratulations to you too, again," Rick said. "Fatherhood looks good on you."

Daryl smiled to himself and watched Sophia cavorting around with the piglets.

"Thanks," he said. "It feels pretty damn good, too."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here we are, another self-indulgent chapter here.**

 **I'm glad to see that some of you are enjoying this. It's exciting that you like my silly and self-indulgent fluff.**

 **I'll give you some warning that there's some mention of Ed here and some mention of abuse. It's not very explicit, but the warning is there for those who need it. It's discussion of Ed and all that entails.**

 **I hope that you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

When Carol had first found out that she was expecting Sophia, Ed had been surprisingly doting. The abuse to which she'd grown accustomed had almost stopped entirely. It seemed that being a father was something that Ed had desired. At that point in her marriage, Carol was already pretty much isolated from everyone she'd ever known. She rarely saw her family, and even those rare visits were limited to spending time with those who knew better than to say anything about Ed's mistreatment. Carol had certainly had no girlfriend with which to share the good news, and there hadn't been anyone that was really interested in celebrating the arrival of her child. There had been occasion for her to tell the people at Ed's office that she was expecting, but honestly it had been Ed that had made the announcement to them. After all, it really was his place to make the announcement, and she and wanted to give him anything that would make him happy. When Ed was happy, Carol was allowed to remain calm and unconcerned. Throughout her pregnancy, Ed had fallen victim to the occasional paranoid concern that the child wasn't his. The accusation was completely unfounded, of course, but when it entered his mind, Ed seemed unable to fight it or to believe Carol. When those paranoid thoughts entered Ed's mind, his anger would boil back up and he would forget his devotion to the child that Carol was carrying. Those were the times when Carol worried—as any mother would and for the first time as a mother—for the well-being of her child. Ed had been relatively good to her, though. While she'd been pregnant, he'd never hit her in the stomach, and he'd never thrown her down. Even in his rages, he seemed willing to protect the child that she was carrying to some degree. Carol couldn't exactly say that Ed had ever loved his daughter, but he had held some affection for her—at least until she'd been born.

Something and changed entirely in the hospital. Maybe it was the fact that Sophia was a bouncing baby girl and not the son that Ed had had hoped for. Maybe it was the fact that Sophia resembled Carol a great deal more than she resembled Ed and, therefore, he was still in possession of some ammunition to fuel the paranoid belief that Carol had cheated on him and that Sophia wasn't his daughter. Whatever the real underlying reason, Ed had blamed most of his anger on the financial side of things. Having a child was expensive, and Ed hated expensive things. He especially hated expensive things when they weren't for him, and he seemed to believe that this child—a child that he wasn't sure he wanted any longer—was not at all for him. Almost as soon as they had come home from the hospital, the hands-off policy that he had had adopted while Carol was pregnant went out the window. He'd hardly waited for her to put down the car seat with their brand new baby girl before he'd landed her a hard smack across the cheek for something he'd said that she'd said or done in the hospital. Carol didn't remember what it had been now, and it didn't matter. Like most of her transgressions, it was probably a creation of Ed's mind. Ed had never put his hands on Sophia, but Carol knew it was really only a matter of time.

By the time they made it to the rock quarry outside of Atlanta with the rest of the group, Carol could feel the tension in the air. Ed was just biding his time. He was becoming nervous about rations. He was becoming nervous about everything. The paranoia that always seemed to be at play in Ed's mind was growing worse, and he seemed certain that the only way that they would survive was if they were able to get rid of everyone else. They needed to get rid of the baggage. Carol knew that what he really meant was that he was concerned with his own survival. Whether or not Carol survived was truly of very little concern. She was good for a fuck, and she was good to feed him, but other than that she really meant very little to Ed. Sophia meant even less to him. Shortly before he died, Ed had begun to think about the fact that Sophia was a risk for all of them. It hadn't been too hard for him to decide that, especially since everyone in camp had been mumbling about their concerns regarding Carol's baby. She was an inconvenience and a risk. The grumbling of the others had gotten Ed started, though, and he'd begun to come to the conclusion that Sophia was just another mouth to feed and that she was a threat to them all because Walkers might hear her when she cried.

Ed had started to think that it might simply be better to do away with Sophia, and Carol had never been more terrified of her husband in all her life.

Maybe it was wrong of Carol to admit it, but she'd been relieved the night that the Walkers had come to camp. She was sorry for the loss of all the other good people that had been lost from their group, but she'd been relieved when—while cleaning up the carnage—Rick had come to her to deliver the news that her husband was among those who hadn't survived the attack. Becoming a widow should have never been a moment of happiness for anyone, but it had been one of the happiest moments of Carol's life.

Now she knew love like she'd never even truly imagined existed.

Carol was expecting again—something she didn't honestly believe would ever happen. And the man that she called her partner was truly excited about their impending arrival. His excitement, honestly, made Carol a bit nervous. She feared failing him in some way. She wanted him to have all the good things that he hoped for himself because she knew that all the good he wanted for himself would be good for Carol and Sophia as well.

Carol didn't expect Daryl to change his mind about the baby. He already knew all the sacrifices that a child required, and he seemed more than happy to make them just to have another. He was already the best father that Sophia could hope to have. Carol couldn't imagine that there had ever been a little girl with more doting a father than Sophia had found in Daryl.

Carol was also surrounded by people who were extended family to them now, and she couldn't wait to share her good news with them. She'd given Daryl her blessing to go forth and share their good news, but she'd ask him to at least let her have some opportunity to share. He had quickly and happily agreed to that.

Lori was her girlfriend. She was the first girlfriend that Carol had had in some time, so Carol was still learning how that kind of relationship worked. Lori was the mother of two. Her son was older—just about the age to be into everything and keeping Lori forever worried about his safety and whereabouts—and her daughter was only a few months old.

Carol had never shared truly good news like this with a girlfriend before, and she only hoped that television hadn't lied to her. She hoped that Lori would be thrilled for her good fortune. She was prepared, though, for the possibility of some negative feelings on the part of Lori.

Lori had some problems in her marriage to Rick. In fact, Lori had a great deal of problems in her marriage.

Carol supposed that if she were to go in search of Daryl's faults, she would find them—because he was human and surely had a number of them just like she did—but Carol didn't bother to go searching for the bad. Rather, she preferred to appreciate all the good that Daryl brought to their relationship—something that was very easy to appreciate after her marriage to Ed—and, in return, Daryl seemed more than willing to forgive her for her imperfections.

This was, of course, the way that Carol thought things should be, but she understood that not all relationships worked that way.

Carol also understood that there were occasionally some negative feelings when friends or loved ones saw something in your relationship that they lacked in their own.

There had been a great deal of question surrounding Lori's pregnancy. During the early days of the turn, Lori and Rick had been separated. Lori had presumed her husband to be dead and she'd quickly sought comfort in the arms of another man. It had just so happened that the other man had been her husband's best friend. It had also just so happened that her husband hadn't been dead at all.

Nobody said it out loud, but the question hung around their family as to whether or not Rick was the biological father of the baby that he called his daughter.

There was no such concern in Carol and Daryl's relationship. Daryl was absolutely not the biological father of Sophia, and Carol had hardly even looked at another man since she'd first offered Daryl a kiss in a farmhouse that seemed a million miles, and a million years, away from where they were now.

Carol didn't expect Lori to want to celebrate her pregnancy, but she at least hoped for a somewhat sincere sounding congratulations.

The world they lived in now was an odd place to find happiness but, in it, Carol had found more happiness than she'd ever known in the past.

When Carol finally gathered up her courage, she tugged Lori over to the side and temporarily put some distance between them and the laundry that they'd been scrubbing by hand in the courtyard of the prison. Lori had laughed, clearly taking Carol's separating her from the group as some kind of humorous antic.

"What is it?" Lori asked. "Do you have some kind of secret?"

Carol raised her eyebrows at Lori.

"Something like that," she said. "Maybe I just wanted to share it with you before I shared it with Maggie and Beth."

Lori laughed to herself.

"You're being so secretive that I'm starting to think you're going to tell me that you're seeing someone and Daryl doesn't know about it."

Carol frowned at her.

"What is it?" Lori prompted, not even excusing what she'd said.

"I don't even know how to say it," Carol said. "I think—I had something planned out and it's just left me."

"Is something wrong?" Lori asked, her humor fading into genuine concern.

Carol smiled to herself and shook her head.

"Everything's—it's very right," Carol said. "For me. For Daryl."

Lori laughed to herself, but Carol wasn't sure if there was any genuineness to the laughter or if it was simply a nervous sound that had been made to relieve some of the tension that was unnecessarily building.

"Carol..." Lori started, but she didn't finish.

"Mama!" Sophia called out, her sweet and high-pitched voice immediately breaking into the conversation.

"There you are!" Daryl declared. He had found them—not that they were difficult to find—and he was coming toward them with Sophia riding on his hip. She was muddy, and so was Daryl, but both of them looked as pleased as they could be about the situation.

Without presuming that he might be interrupting something, Daryl walked right over and planted a kiss on Carol's cheek. In the beginning, he'd been a bit standoffish about being affectionate in front of people. As time had gone on, though, he'd learned that he enjoyed it. He still didn't appreciate over-the-top displays of affection, but a kiss or a hug was more than acceptable in his opinion.

He smiled at Lori.

"You tell her yet?" He asked.

"Tell me what?" Lori asked.

Carol shook her head.

"I haven't found the words," Carol said.

"Shit," Daryl declared. "Shit—I'm sorry. I'ma just..."

Carol caught him by the arm before he could take Sophia and attempt to run away. He wouldn't want to spoil her moment. What he probably failed to realize was that it was Carol who seemed unable to get the words out that were necessary to have her so-called moment.

"Don't go," Carol said. "You can tell her. Just the same as I can."

"Tell me what?" Lori asked. She laughed to herself again, but this time it was clear that there was no actual humor there. She was growing concerned—and with good reason.

Daryl frowned at Carol and chewed at his lip.

"It was supposed to be Carol that told'ja," Daryl said. "But—her an' me...we're...looks like we're gonna, ya know, have us another kid. Not too long after the winter thaws out this year."

Carol smiled to herself to hear Daryl's explanation.

"As nature intended," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Just like that," Daryl offered.

Lori took a long moment to absorb the information, but once it sunk in for her, a smile spread over her lips. She reached for Carol and pulled her into a hug.

"You're pregnant?" She asked.

Carol laughed to herself. She realized that her heart was thundering in her chest and her lungs felt slightly constricted. She nodded at Lori when they broke apart.

"I am," Carol said.

"I didn't know you were trying," Lori said.

"We weren't," Carol said. "I mean—not exactly."

"We weren't not tryin', though," Daryl said. "Soph—here—we ain't explained it to her yet. Not so she can understand."

"I understand!" Sophia declared, having no idea what she was supposed to be understanding. All that she understood with any sincerity was that Daryl was trying to suggest that there might be something she didn't know, and Sophia hated to be out of the loop.

"You do," Carol said. "And you'll understand even more later. But—right now—your Daddy needs to go and get you a bath."

"Aye, aye," Daryl teased. He leaned and pecked Carol's cheek again.

It wasn't until he started to walk off that Lori found the voice to squeak out a congratulations at him that he could carry with him. He waved over his shoulder as if to let her know that he'd heard her.

And then Lori hugged Carol once more.

"You're really happy for me?" Carol asked.

"Of course!" Lori said. "The girls will have another child to play with. It'll be wonderful. And—I'll have so much stuff from Judith that you can use. You won't hardly need anything with her outgrowing everything. It's just—wonderful. Are you happy?"

Carol smiled to herself, pleased to at least be asked the question with some genuine concern.

"I couldn't be happier," Carol said.

"I don't even have to ask if Daryl's happy," Lori said.

Carol laughed to herself. She shook her head at Lori.

"No," she said. "You don't. He hardly knows what to do with himself—and he's only known for a day."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Here we are, another self-indulgent chapter. It's just that fluffy comes out easier when you're tired, to be honest. And it works as something of a bedtime story for me. LOL**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think.**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"You don't know it, Soph," Daryl mused, "but I'm real bad at all that kinda shit."

"I know!" Sophia said.

Daryl laughed to himself. She repeated the words a few different times, her tone becoming more and more sincere with each repetition. She didn't know what he was talking about, but she knew that the typical response to any such lament was to respond with a sincere and heartfelt "I know."

"Yeah—maybe you do know, Soph," Daryl said. "Hell—I prob'ly done somethin' like that to you at least once. An' if I ain't? Just wait. I'ma get around to it. You just give me time to fuck it up."

"I know, Daddy," Sophia said, still testing out various tones of voice. She sounded almost joyful this time. "I know," she added again, this time dropping her voice to little more than a whisper like she might be trying to soothe Daryl.

Maybe she was actually trying to soothe him. Daryl tried to check his facial expression, not sure how much his daughter might be reading there.

He talked to her about a lot of things that, honestly, he probably had no business discussing with a human as small as she was. The fact of the matter, though, was that he'd always found it easy to talk to Sophia. When she was a baby, he knew that she couldn't understand what he was saying. She always responded to him—enjoying his attention and the words they shared, even if she didn't know what they meant—and he'd appreciated the opportunity to talk about things without feeling even the slightest big judged.

Sophia still couldn't understand much of what he said, but she was starting to pick up on a great deal more.

"I gotta stop tellin' you everything," Daryl admitted.

Sophia's bottom lip rolled out Daryl and she paused in playing with the plastic boats that she was holding in her hand. She stood up in the large metal washtub that served as her bathtub and made her way to the side. She held her arms out to Daryl for a hug and he shook his head at her.

"You wet," he said. "Sit down, Soph. Play with your boats."

She didn't sit, though, and she didn't back down. Instead, she stood there with her arms spread out wide and her bottom lip protruding.

"You win," Daryl said. He leaned forward and accepted Sophia's dramatic and soggy hug. After she felt that she'd comforted him enough that he would stop saying things that she didn't like the sound of, she sat back down in her bath and gathered up her boats once more. Daryl reached over and tousled her hair.

Carol's hair was curly. As it started to grow from the very short cut that she'd favored when he first met her, it erupted into ringlets. Sophia's hair, on the other hand, was straight. It was apparently a trait she'd gotten from her biological father and, right now, it hung in straight clumps and stuck to her face. When Daryl tousled it, Sophia reached up to rake at it with her fingers. Daryl helped her and pushed it out of her face.

"It's just that it was important to her, Soph," Daryl said. "You know? I mean she was lookin' forward to it. She don't look forward to all that much. An' she was. But I just messed it up. I couldn't even let her have it. She wanted to just tell one person about the whole thing an' I just jumped right on in there an' swallowed up all of it. Took it right away. I wrecked the whole damn thing an' I can't take it back. An' now she ain't never gonna get that chance again."

"I wouldn't say never."

Daryl jumped. Carol's voice surprised him to the point that he nearly came out of his skin to run about as a wholly skeletal version of himself. Sophia jerked dramatically, too, to look in the direction from which her mother's voice had come. Peering over her shoulder, Sophia smiled a toothy grin.

"Mama!" She declared.

"Hi, baby!" Carol cooed from behind Daryl.

"How long you been there?" Daryl asked, not looking back at Carol.

"A little while," Carol said.

"I know you weren't there when she hugged me," Daryl said. "Got me all wet. 'Cause she'da called you out."

"I was behind the door frame," Carol said. She walked over and eased herself down to sit on the rug beside Daryl.

He glanced at her, half expecting her to be angry or frowning at him, but she was smiling. Her expression didn't match the way he felt at all. And maybe she could see it—maybe that was why Sophia had been trying to make him feel better—because Carol's expression changed when she looked at him. She reached her hand up and touched his forehead, brushing his bangs back. She clucked her tongue at him and leaned forward, kissing him tenderly on the forehead before she gave him something of a pained smile.

"You need your hair cut tomorrow," Carol said.

"It's fine," Daryl said.

"Sure it is," Carol said. "If I never wanted to see your eyes." She sighed. "You didn't wreck anything, Daryl. In all the time that I've known you—and certainly in all the time that I've loved you—you've never wrecked anything. On the contrary. You've made everything better."

"You wanted to tell Lori an' I just snatched that shit away from you," Daryl said.

"There's always next time," Carol said.

"You act like you know there's such a thing," Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I don't," she said. "And there's a good chance that there isn't a next time. But—I didn't think there would be a this time, either, so I'm not willing to say never. Besides—I didn't know how to tell her. I wanted to tell her, but then I just couldn't figure out how. You came along and saved me, more than anything."

"You said you wanted to tell," Daryl said. "I done told her an' Rick both."

"And there's everybody else," Carol offered.

"Like they don't already know," Daryl said. "You know we told 'em to keep it to themselves, but I guarantee you that Lori's done run her mouth, an' once it gets out loud enough for Glenn to hear it then we might as well just stand on the damned table at dinner an' tell everyone."

Carol laughed to herself.

"But whether they know or not, they'll pretend that they don't," Carol said. "And we'll still get to tell them. And that'll be all that really matters."

Carol crawled sideways on her knees, closing the short distance between Daryl and herself. She got as close to where he was sitting on his knees as was possible, and then she leaned her head over on his shoulder.

"I'm not mad at you," she said. "But—I am upset that someone is messing with my Pookie's feelings."

Daryl's gut twisted just before it relaxed with the chuckle that he tried to swallow back.

"What the hell I tell you about callin' me that?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"You don't want to be my Pookie?" She asked.

"It's a stupid ass name," Daryl said.

Carol frowned at him. At that moment, Daryl was reminded how much Sophia and Carol looked alike. He was also reminded that he was completely and utterly fucked since both of them had the ability to manipulate him with little more than an expression.

"You didn't like Baby," Carol said, her voice soft and scratchy. She swallowed and shook her head. "You didn't like—Honey, Snookums, Darling, Dear, Love."

She broke off and Daryl remembered a scene he was pretty sure he'd seen in a horror movie once. Someone reached into another person's gut, snatched out their entrails, and probably tore them out or twisted them around something. Whatever the situation had been in the movie, Daryl felt like that was what was happening to him at that moment.

Carol's eyes were suddenly damp and her frown was very sincere. She finished her commentary on the stupid pet name by shrugging her shoulders.

"I just meant—Pookie's just—you could just call me Daryl," Daryl stammered. "You're Carol and I'm Daryl. You call me Daddy, sometimes, and I call you Mama."

"That's for Sophia," Carol said, her voice barely more than air. "And—I guess—for the baby. I just wanted something—for me. Something cute. But...you don't like it..."

Whatever had reached into Daryl's gut gave a hard twist to his entrails.

"It's fine," Daryl said.

"You don't like it," Carol said.

"It's growin' on me," Daryl said. "Pookie—I mean—it's growin' on me. But—maybe you could just—call me Dixon like you do sometimes when people's around an' then, ya know, Pookie...it could be for you. Like just for you. Not for nobody else."

Carol offered him a partial smile. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks, Pookie," she said, nuzzling the side of his face with her nose.

"We got an audience," Daryl said. When he rolled his eyes back toward Sophia, she had stopped playing with her boats. She was watching both of them, mouth slightly open, like they were the most mesmerizing thing that she'd ever seen. When Daryl mentioned her eavesdropping, she smiled at them and offered the both of them a perfect view of every one of her teeth—teeth that had kept them up for what seemed like an eternity's worth of nights as they slowly made their way through her gums.

"Hi Daddy," Sophia offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Hi, Soph," he responded. "You are a peepin' Tom."

"To be fair," Carol said, "we are right by her bath. Besides—she likes seeing us loving on one another and, to be honest, I like her seeing it. There are worse things that she might have seen."

"Shhh..." Daryl hissed quickly to keep Carol from slipping down any long and winding road into her past. He hated even remembering where she'd been in the past. Just thinking about it was enough to bring back the excruciating gut-wrenching feeling that he'd rather do without.

"You know I don't like when you talk about shit like that," Daryl said. "Makes you sad."

"It's just the same as me not liking that you're listening to _him_ again," Carol said. "He's wrong. He's always been wrong, and he'll always be wrong. You don't fuck things up, Daryl. You never have. And—I don't like him hanging around any more than you like you-know-who hanging around in my head."

"But you know as good as I do that they in there," Daryl said. "An' they loud."

"We just have to be louder," Carol said. "Listen, Daryl, I wanted to tell Lori, but I couldn't get it out. You helped me. And—later? After dinner maybe? We'll tell the others. Together. That way it doesn't have to be a you thing and a me thing. It can just be an us thing."

Daryl smiled at her. He nodded his head.

"If that's what you want," he said.

"That's what I want," Carol assured him. "And—I want a kiss."

"I reckon I could scrounge one up," he said.

He leaned over and kissed her. She teased him with her tongue, and Daryl growled at the jolt of electricity that her silent suggestion sent through his body.

"Gonna be a long time 'fore she goes to bed," Daryl said. "Dinner an' all first. An' you kissin' me like that."

Carol smiled at him. She winked at him.

"It'll give you something to look forward to, Pookie," she said. She put her hand on Daryl's shoulder and used him to help get herself off the floor. He offered a hand out to help steady her, but she got up relatively easy. Her knees didn't give her half the trouble that his did sometimes. "I have to go and get to work on that dinner," Carol added once she was on her feet. "Can you handle getting Princess Sophia in her jammies so she can have something to eat?"

"As good as on it," Daryl said. "Don't'cha worry, we'll be there when the dinner bell rings. Soph—tell ya Ma that we got it."

"We got it!" Sophia declared, repeating the line that Daryl had taught her with a pretty decent amount of repetition over her short life. It was the perfect way to respond to much of what Carol had to say to them. Carol laughed to herself.

"I know you do," she said as she walked out the room and left them to their task.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Here we are, a little self-indulgent fluffy.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"He absolutely didn't mean anything by it, Daryl," Carol said with a laugh.

Daryl was sitting on the side of the bed, and he was sulking to the point that his irritation was palpable.

When it had happened, he'd been bothered, but he'd quickly gotten over it when he'd gotten swept up in the merriment of the moment. He'd been distracted, then, by conversation and congratulations. The whole family knew their news now. Everyone knew that a brand new baby would be joining them sometime after the winter thawed. Even Sophia knew, though they hadn't taken the time yet to tell her what it meant in a way that she could understand. All that she knew was that everyone was happy—and that made her happy, too.

Daryl's distraction had continued while he'd told Sophia her bedtime story and while the little girl cuddled with them, and it had lasted through tucking her in to sleep for the night.

It must have been when Daryl slipped out of the prison to smoke a cigarette that, left alone with his thoughts in the cool night air, he'd started to overthink what had happened and he'd started to take it to heart. That wasn't something entirely uncommon with Daryl. Carol knew, by now, that when he was left alone with his thoughts, there was always a chance that his insecurities were going to convince him of something negative that simply wasn't true.

Glenn hadn't meant anything by it.

But now Daryl was sitting and stewing in some misery of his own creation.

"He said it like it wasn't even possible," Daryl said.

"I didn't take it that way," Carol responded. She touched Daryl's arm, but he didn't relax. He wasn't ready to relax just yet. He needed to sit with this a bit longer before he was ready to let it go.

"He didn't act like that when it was Rick an' Lori that said they was gonna have a kid," Daryl said.

"To be fair, we don't know what he acted like," Carol said. "He knew before any of the rest of us did, and it wasn't like they formally announced the pregnancy. There was too much—complication—surrounding the whole situation."

"It was like—he couldn't believe we could do it or somethin'," Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"Maybe it was simply that he thought he and Maggie would be next," Carol offered.

"It was how he said it," Daryl said. "Like—like it weren't that you was pregnant that surprised him. It was like—it was like it was the fact that _you_ was pregnant that got him."

Carol laughed again.

"If you change the sound of your voice," she said, "and the stress on your words, does it really change the meaning that dramatically?"

"We're every bit as likely to have a kid as anybody else," Daryl said.

"Clearly," Carol remarked. She readjusted her pillow to get comfortable. "We're going to have a baby, Daryl. We're not only every bit as likely, but we're—I guess we're super likely." She laughed to herself and patted the bed next to her. "Come to bed?"

Daryl glanced at her and went back to troubling his thumb for a moment. He wasn't ready. Not just yet. He still needed a moment to sit with this before he was ready to let it go and come back to comfort that their cell and bed offered him.

Carol had a lot of demons. They lived with her. They lived inside of her. She didn't know if they would ever leave her—not entirely—because Ed had planted them so deep within her psyche. Daryl was exceptionally patient with her demons, however. She could bring them to him, lay them at his feet, and he would tell her what she needed to hear.

Daryl knew that, sometimes, she just needed to hear that what Ed had said was wrong. And sometimes she needed to hear it a few dozen times a day.

Daryl had demons, too. They lived with him every bit as much as Carol's demons lived with her. It had taken a bit of work on Carol's part to convince Daryl that she wouldn't judge him for his demons, but she'd finally gotten him to the point where he would bring them to her. She had learned that, though Daryl needed to hear her words when he was feeling particularly plagued by some insecurity—something that happened sometimes a few dozen times a day—he also responded best if she could get him to let her touch him.

Daryl liked to be wrapped in her love. It was there that he felt safe, warm, and loved. It was there that he felt good—and like a good man. And, like all good things, the affection was reciprocal. Carol found love and protection in Daryl's embrace.

They had created an oasis for themselves in their cell.

First had come the removal of the horrible tiny cot. They'd found a furniture warehouse and everyone that had wanted them had gotten proper beds. If they were calling the prison home, it was only natural that it needed to feel like home. It was a luxury, perhaps, but a good night's sleep meant more productive days working toward things that benefitted all of them.

Carol had found the pillows, linens, and the lamp. She'd found the cloth for the curtain, sewed it herself by hand, and hung it to give them privacy.

Daryl had joked that she'd been trying to seduce him with comfort and a promise of home, but she'd seen the look of pure joy on his face that coming to the cell each night brought him. The cell wasn't much by the standards of the world that they'd once known, but it was the nicest home that either of them had known in a very long time.

It was full of love and, now, it seemed that it was going to perform the impossible feat of becoming even fuller.

"Do you think..." Daryl started, but he paused.

"Do I think what, Daryl?" Carol asked, pressing him to continue. She knew that the sooner she could purge him of the negative thoughts, the sooner they could simply move on with their lives.

"Do you think—maybe it wasn't even about you," Daryl said. "Because you Sophia's Mama. Like her real Mama. Maybe it was about me. Maybe it was—that he figured I weren't like fit or somethin'."

Carol laughed to herself and swallowed it down when he cut his eyes at her. She gave him her best compassionate expression and relinquished the comfort that she'd found in the bed to crawl out from under the covers and come to him. She wrapped herself around him where he sat on the edge of the bed, near the foot, and she rested her head on his shoulder after she kissed his jaw.

"I sincerely believe that Glenn's question about whether we were 'really' expecting had nothing to do with his belief that either of us was worthy or capable of this. I believe we caught him off guard. And I also think that—maybe he thought you were teasing him. Sometimes you do like to tell him things and then give him a hard time about being gullible. Daryl—Glenn didn't mean anything by it."

"Who would joke about that?" Daryl asked.

"A lot of people," Carol assured him. "But do you know what the best thing is?"

Daryl moved so that he could look at her and Carol sat up so that he could make eye contact with her. She smiled at him and he mirrored her smile, whether or not he meant to do it intentionally.

"You?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"You," she echoed. "But—what I was going to say is that—no matter what anybody meant or thought or anything...Daryl, the fact of the matter is that we're doing this."

His cheeks blushed, and it was obvious even in the dim light of the cell. Carol didn't think he was embarrassed, though, as much as he'd just been swept up in a wave of emotion that came with the reminder that this—this building of their family that he'd somewhat dreamed about since they'd decided to call themselves a family—was something that was genuinely happening. He swallowed.

"You're sure?" Daryl asked. "Hershel's sure?"

Carol had heard Daryl already ask the old man twice if he was positive that he couldn't have made a mistake—being a veterinarian and all and not accustomed to dealing with women like Carol—and she'd already assured Daryl a few times herself, but he needed a little more reassurance.

She nodded her head.

"And I don't take your disbelief to heart any more than I do Glenn's," she teased. She winked at him to let him know that she was playing with him and nothing more.

"I didn't mean nothin'," Daryl said.

"And neither did he," Carol said. "He's happy for us. Everyone's happy for us. And—this is absolutely happening."

Daryl came for a kiss, and Carol accepted and returned it with the most enthusiasm that she'd ever put into a kiss—not necessarily because she needed it, but because she felt that Daryl needed it. When they'd first started this relationship, Daryl had admitted that he'd been pretty limited in the relationship experience department. What he lacked in prior knowledge, though, he made up in enthusiasm. His earliest kisses had been clumsy and nervous. Now he had a full range of kisses from sweet and gentle to hungry and suggestive.

Though she'd loved dime store trash books for a quick read, Carol had always doubted that a kiss could truly take someone's breath away. Now that she had Daryl, though, she believed it. He knew how to rob her of her breath, and he did so often.

She smiled at him when the kiss broke—a kiss that left her lips stinging and her body begging for the more that she knew he would offer her if she only asked.

"I think it's time for bed, Pookie," Carol said. "I've already asked you to come to bed twice. Do I have to beg you?"

Daryl laughed to himself and his smile turned up at the corner in the mischievous way that it did whenever he was about to start teasing Carol. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"I might like it if you did," he said.

"Oh," Carol said. "So that's how you want to play it? First you—you get me pregnant and then you want me to beg you to come to bed with me?"

If Daryl's cheeks had been pink before, they blushed red now. He held his ground, though, despite the fact that he was clearly struggling with his own inclination to simply back out of the somewhat request. Carol had full intentions to humor him, though, so she didn't torture him long before she gave in.

"OK," she said. "Pookie—will you please come to bed?" She smiled at him. "I don't think I'm going to be able to stand it much longer. I've been—waiting—waiting to get my hands on you since—since before dinner." She swallowed. She felt her own face running hot. Just as Daryl had let her know that he had very little experience in the relationship department, she'd had to let him know that her experiences only went as far as Ed. That hardly made her an expert on anything romantic. Still, he forgave her the shortcomings that Ed had never really wanted to forgive her. Even if she wasn't any good at seduction, Daryl made her feel like she was to the best of his abilities. "It's starting to drive me crazy," she added.

The corner of his mouth curled up again.

"Crazy, huh?" He asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"I can barely stand it," she offered. "I really, really need you to come to bed."

The word "need," when Carol used it, always got Daryl's attention, no matter the context. He considered it his job and priority to care for her needs—all of them—to the best of his ability. It was clear that this was going to be no different.

The smile broke entirely and Daryl stood up long enough to shuck off the clothes that he hadn't finished shedding since he'd come in from smoking his cigarette. Almost immediately, he dived onto the bed and Carol laughed at the sensation of the hard rocking of the mattress. He was on top of her before she could even stop laughing, and he stole the last of her laughter with a kiss. He pushed her backward and she walked her body backward quickly enough that she bumped into the wall and had to take a moment to regain her composure to suit the supposedly-seductive tone of the moment.

But if Daryl thought she'd broken the mood, he didn't let it be known. Instead, he simply asked if she was OK and immediately went back to his work of offering her the hungry kisses that would, in a matter of minutes, start to work their way down her body.

It was clear that Daryl was ready to move past the moment of doubt and insecurity that had left him sulking earlier. There were, after all, more important things to worry about—like taking care of his partner and the mother of his children.

And Carol decided that she didn't really mind begging.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Now—I got the list," Daryl said. He walked around the vehicle, glancing in all the windows, and did a quick check of the supplies that had been loaded. They didn't need much to make it a couple of towns away. They had extra gas, a few extra weapons in case they found they needed them, some tools for any number of things that might arise, and just enough food to keep everyone from getting hungry if they were gone most of the day. "But was there anything else you thought of that'cha forgot to add?"

"I'm not worried about the list, Daryl," Carol offered.

She was standing near the back of the car with her arms crossed across her chest. Up the driveway a piece, and beyond the next layer of the fences, Glenn was still saying his slow goodbyes to Maggie while she was supposed to be passing him her own list. Rick was supposed to be bringing a list from Lori, or at least passing it to someone, as well, but he wouldn't be going with them. He'd stay there to hold down the fort. T-Dog would bring the list from Hershel. The smaller the group, the easier they were able to get in and out. The three of them wouldn't have any trouble. And if they should see something wonderful that they couldn't get back to the prison on their own, they'd go back later with a larger group to retrieve it.

Carol clearly didn't want Daryl to go, though. She wore her sadness on her face, and this time she didn't try to hide it.

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek at the thought that she was seldom so sullen over him leaving for something as simple as a supply run. It might very well be the hidden presence of their newest addition that was causing this extra rise in emotion.

He shifted Sophia's weight, hoisting her higher on his hip, and walked quickly over to where Carol was. He touched her cheek tentatively before he slipped his hand behind her head and held her. She barely crooked her lip at him in a smile before he covered her lips with his own and she teased him with the tip of her tongue to request that he deepen the kiss.

He normally would refuse, given the public nature of the kiss, but he didn't feel himself able to refuse her anything right now. He welcomed the kiss, instead, and only broke it when Sophia made him laugh because she placed a hand on his cheek—and presumably one on Carol's cheek—and proceeded to declare, very loudly, something along the lines of "Smooshy" in her most confident voice.

The serious nature of the kiss was broken when both of them dissolved into laughter over the word that neither of them could interpret.

"You better come back to me, Dixon," Carol said as soon as her laughter had faded. There was some forced teasing in her tone, but it was only for Sophia's benefit and, perhaps, for Daryl's. He could hear the strain in her voice. He knew that she was fighting an emotion that might very well bring her to tears.

"I'll be back," he said. "Smooshy," he added with a laugh. Carol's laughter renewed and he was almost certain that her cheeks blushed a little pink. "Hey," he declared, "I mighta finally found me somethin' to go with your damned Pookie name."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Pookie is cute and affectionate," Carol said.

"And our very own daughter—our daughter, Carol—chose Smooshy for you," Daryl responded.

"How do you know it wasn't for you?" Carol asked.

"Got me a gut feelin'," Daryl said. "Ain't that right, Soph?"

Sophia grinned at him and nodded her head. She would have agreed with him about just about anything if he made sure to ask her in the correct tone of voice and if he made just the right facial expression when he asked her.

"Is that right?" He asked, pressing her.

"Right!" Sophia declared. "That's right! It's right, Daddy!"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Don't tell me, Soph," he said. "Tell your Mama."

"It's right, Mama," Sophia offered, this time with less enthusiasm. She leaned her head against Daryl. She would stay with him until it was time for them to leave. This was her practice every time they were getting ready to go on a run. Daryl would hold her up until the moment that he was ready to get into the car.

Usually Sophia handled runs fairly well if Daryl was the one that left. According to Carol's reports, her full-blown upset only lingered about ten or fifteen minutes and she was usually easy to appease with some sort of "get ready for Daddy to come back" activity. Daryl preferred for Carol to stay with Sophia while he went on runs for a number of reasons—most of which he would never admit to anyone.

The greatest reason, perhaps, was that Daryl thought that Sophia—if she were to have to face the world with only one of them—most needed Carol. On the most basic level, Carol could feed Sophia in situations when Daryl couldn't. Beyond that, though, Carol was capable of nurturing and caring for Sophia in a way that Daryl simply wasn't able to match. She was also skilled enough, in just about every other necessary survival skill at this point, that she could teach Sophia almost everything she needed to know without a problem.

Daryl felt like every kid needed a mother. And every kid that had a good mother—the kind that they ought to have—deserved to have that mother for as long as possible. More than most things that he could give her, Daryl wanted to give Sophia the best chance he could to have her mother for as long as possible.

Another reason that Daryl preferred to go on the runs instead of letting Carol go on them, at this particular moment, was that he knew that she was carrying their child. He couldn't see the baby on her just yet, but it was there. Somewhere, hidden deep inside her where it could be kept safe and warm to grow, their son or daughter was turning into someone. Perhaps, even as he stood there waiting for his travel companions to be ready to leave, the baby was developing some necessary organ or growing fingers for the first time. Daryl didn't know much about the development of the child, but he knew that it was happening. Every day and every hour, the child was growing. If he could stop it, Daryl wasn't going to let anything interfere with that process, so he certainly wasn't going to let Carol go out of the prison gates and into a potentially dangerous situation when there was absolutely no need for her to do so.

The silliest reason, perhaps, why Daryl didn't want Carol to go, though, was that he didn't like to be left behind with Sophia when Carol was gone. Sophia's upset might have lasted ten or even twenty minutes when he left, but it had lasted a great deal longer when Carol had left her the few times that she'd gone on runs. The little girl had not handled well that her mother was missing and it had broken Daryl's heart that he couldn't solve the hurt that she so clearly felt over her mother's absence.

Daryl preferred to let Carol deal with the upset while he went on the run. She was better equipped, he told himself, to handle those emotions. After all, he was pretty certain that was part of what a mother was simply expected to know how to do.

Sophia understood runs. She learned more and more about them each time that they had to leave the prison for supplies. She understood that runs took people away, that they often worried people, and that people eventually came back from runs.

Luckily, Sophia had yet to suffer the hard blow of someone she cared about never coming back. Daryl hoped it was never a feeling that she had to experience, even if he knew that such a hope was naïve.

"Let's go, Dixon," T-Dog called, coming through the gate. "Rhee's coming. He's just got to get the last of his instructions."

"You got the list from Hershel?" Daryl asked.

"It's the same as always," T-Dog said. "Everything we can find and make sure we hit up every pet shop and veterinarian hospital we see. The clinics might be picked over, but not too many people know the dosage per weight of popular animal medications."

Daryl laughed to himself because T-Dog sounded like a commercial. Of course, he sounded like that because they often heard the same speech from Hershel when they were preparing for a run. The area surrounding the prison was surprisingly picked over. They had explored a little, but mostly they'd explored in the direction of towns whose names they recognized on the map. They would continue out to a point, and then they'd expand their search. They were starting to believe, though, that there had been some other big groups in the area before them. That would be the only possible way to explain the fact that there was a lot of supplies missing—from the most obvious items to the least.

There were some things they'd be willing to travel the furthest for. Medical supplies was at the top of that list.

This trip wasn't wholly for medical supplies, though. While they were out, they'd also look for some baby things. They knew of a few warehouses where they were hoping to find a few things, and they'd search out baby and children's stores as well. Whatever they brought back could be stored if Carol and Lori couldn't use it. After all, there was plenty of reason to believe that there would be other babies at the prison someday.

"You sure you don't want nothin' else?" Daryl asked, directing his question at Carol. "This list is pretty paltry."

"You know as well as I do what we need," Carol said. "But I can use anything that Lori doesn't need."

Daryl hummed to himself.

"Just the same, you won't mind when I do a lil' shoppin' of my own," he said.

Carol smiled to herself.

"I expected you would," she said. "That's why my list was nothing more than a guide. Daryl—I mean what I said. The only thing I really want is you to get back here. We'll make do with everything else."

Daryl glanced at T-Dog. He wasn't even pretending not to watch them. Leaning on the car, the only thing that he was missing to make the scene complete was a bowl of popcorn and, perhaps, a large gulp soda.

Daryl didn't let him deter him, though, he caught Carol's lips once more and promised her the best he could with the kiss that he'd be back. He held her eyes after the kiss.

"I promise you that I'm comin' back," Daryl said. "Got—got all this to come back to, woman. There ain't nothin' that's gonna stop me from gettin' back here."

"Promise?" Carol asked.

"Promise," Daryl assured her. He turned around and looked over his shoulder. T-Dog laughed to himself even before Daryl spoke. "Enjoyin' the show, asshole?" Daryl asked.

"Best one I've seen today," T-Dog offered. He pointed. "Glenn's comin'."

Daryl turned to find Glenn coming up to the fences nearest them.

"Go on ahead," he said. "Change of plans." 

"Change of plans?" Daryl asked.

"There's a store that Lori found in a phone book," Glenn said. "Maggie says we've been in that area before, but Lori wants us to check it out to be sure since it's closer. It's a baby store. We're going to run by there and then we'll catch up with you two. Get on the road that we marked out."

"You got a map?" Daryl asked.

Glenn nodded.

"We know where we're going," Glenn said. "Maggie's been there before. Before the turn. We'll catch up with you two within an hour."

Daryl nodded.

"You heard the man," Daryl said, addressing Sophia. "Time to go. Give Daddy a kiss."

"No," Sophia said calmly.

"Soph—gimme a kiss," Daryl said. "Daddy's gotta go now."

"No," she said, this time with a little more passion behind her refusal. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tightened her hold. She could become almost like Daryl imagined a starfish, or some other suction-cupped animal, might be. She could stick to him like they were fused together. Daryl was sometimes surprised at her strength. Just the same, he pried her loose and forced her over to Carol. Although she wanted to fight, she knew better than to fight too hard. She would only lose and then there would be some kind of punishment doled out for a fit that was too over-the-top.

So, instead of fighting, Sophia simply launched into a pathetic wail during which she sobbed out choked versions of "Daddy" and grabbed for Daryl as she clung to Carol's neck with one arm.

During the madness, Daryl swallowed down his own sadness over leaving his family, stole a kiss from his tear-soaked daughter, and stole a kiss from Carol.

Rather than look back, because he couldn't quite stand to see, directly, Sophia crying pathetically and clinging to Carol, he looked in the rearview mirror once he was inside the car and waiting for Rick and Carl to open the gates so that they could leave.

Carol, despite her own feelings and Sophia's tantrum, was wearing a smile for him because she knew that he would need it. She was wearing a smile for him because he'd once told her that he wished she'd smile like that for him whenever he left—just in case it was his last trip out the gates—because he wanted his last memory of her to be her smiling like that.

She'd never forgotten, and she wore that smile—no matter how hard it was for her.

Daryl smiled to himself and swallowed against the lump in his throat before he held a hand up in a wave that she could see and pulled the car through the gates.

"You alright, Dixon?" T-Dog asked, settling in for the ride with the map.

"No," Daryl admitted. "But I will be. Since it'll be an hour before Glenn catches up with us—let's make some decent time and make a quick stop somewhere else. I got somethin' I wanna pick up. Just between us."

"You got it," T-Dog said. "Make a left up here. Then it's a pretty straight shot after you hit the highway."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I'll be honest, it's something of a transition chapter. Those have to happen sometimes. LOL**

 **Also there's an AN at the end.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"I thought you weren't coming back," Carol admitted, her voice barely above a whisper so that it wouldn't carry beyond the curtain covered entrance into their cell. "I feel bad even admitting it. I feel bad even—even admitting that I feel relieved when I know what Hershel and Beth—what they must be feeling. What everyone's feeling, really. But—it's different for everyone else."

Daryl sat on the bed and watched Carol. He wasn't saying much, and he looked troubled, but that was only to be expected.

The whole run group had been gone all day. Nobody had started to panic until the sun was setting. Then a sensation of worry had simply descended over every last corner of the prison.

Being out after sunset was particularly dangerous. The Walkers didn't really seem to suffer from any vision difficulty because of the lack of light. They remained able to continue on as they normally would. People, however, needed light to see. The light drew the Walkers. If the people tried to continue on without light, they were much more likely to make stupid mistakes that might get them grabbed by Walkers that they didn't see or hear. Beyond that, it seemed like many Walkers were simply more active at night, even though Carol had no reasonable explanation as to why they might be.

Carol had distracted herself by turning all of her attention to feeding the group, cleaning up after the meal, and making sure that Sophia remained unaware of any potential problem. Her daughter clearly noticed Daryl's absence, but she accepted the happy face that Carol could force herself into wearing, and she accepted Carol's promise that "Daddy" would be there to get Sophia's breakfast ready when she woke up from a good night's sleep. With the promise fresh in her mind, Sophia had allowed Carol to handle her entire bedtime routine, and she'd stayed asleep as Carol had moved her delicately from their cell to the cell that Sophia shared with Rick and Lori's daughter, Judith.

It was only once Sophia was asleep that Carol had allowed herself to start unraveling with concern over the fact that something might have happened. They knew roughly where everyone was supposed to be while gathering supplies, but a lot could happen that could draw a group away from their intended location, and those changes couldn't be communicated back to the group. Going in search of someone was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Still, Carol wanted desperately to go after Daryl.

She might have suggested something the moment that the sun had started to break through the darkness of the night, but she hadn't had to.

Daryl and T-Dog had come back in two vehicles. They'd come back with a large truck that they'd gotten running while they were away, and they'd come back with the car that they'd taken when they left. They came telling stories about finding a great deal of useful stuff on their run, but also finding more Walkers than they'd bargained for. Neither of them had been hurt, but they'd been slowed down considerably when they'd worked to avoid the potential trouble of a herd that had been wandering near them.

They'd never rendezvoused with Maggie and Glenn like they'd planned. The two had never shown up to their designated location and, after escaping the herd that they'd worked to avoid, Daryl and T-Dog had driven in the direction where Maggie and Glenn were supposed to have gone, but they'd seen no sign of them. Since the two of them had no way of knowing exactly where Glenn and Maggie might have been sent, and since they couldn't find any indication of their whereabouts, they'd decided that it was likely that the two had returned to the prison. They'd done the same, positive that they'd all meet up there with stories to tell about the day.

Glenn and Maggie had never returned, though, and now it seemed that the whole prison was waiting out the night in the best way that they knew how. Nobody was quite sure of what the dawn would bring. They would have to figure out a plan, but there was really nothing they could safely do until the world woke up and allowed them to see everything clearly once more.

Carol and Daryl were supposed to be sleeping, but Carol's concern over the possibility that something had happened to Daryl, compounded with her concern over their two lost group members, meant that she wasn't very much in the mood to sleep. Daryl, too, seemed like he was content to simply spend the night keeping each other company in the cell.

"Even now," Carol continued, talking to herself as much as she was talking to Daryl, "I feel—you must think I'm awful to admit it. I hope we find them, but I'm relieved you're back. I kept thinking..." Carol stopped. She felt unable to stop talking entirely, but she also felt unable to put her words together in any clear and decipherable order. She felt unable to stop telling Daryl essentially the same story over and over. It was as though his absence and the fear of losing him had broken something inside her. A thread or something had snapped and there was nothing there to hold back the flood of thoughts and emotions that she could usually keep intact. For as much as she might accuse him of judging her for her words, though, Carol had to admit that Daryl truly looked like he wasn't judging her at all. He never did. "I kept thinking..." she swallowed back against the lump in her throat that found its way back to a position where it had been several times before. Daryl changed his positon so that he could sit beside her. He rubbed his hand over her back and hushed her.

"It's OK," he said. "You ain't gotta say it. You ain't gotta explain it, neither. We all feel what we feel. And every man's a liar that says he don't got selfish thoughts. Woman too, I reckon. We love what we love best. It don't make us bad. Makes us human." Daryl's voice was barely loud enough to reach Carol's ears, but it brought with it strange wave of comfort. "Fuck—if I was bein' honest, I'd sacrifice everybody in this prison two dozen times to save you an' Soph. More'n that if it's what I had to do. Does it make me an animal?"

"Not to me," Carol said. "But to everyone else..."

"An' still I sit here not carin'," Dayrl said, making it so that she didn't have to finish.

She understood exactly what he was saying. He was trying to put her own emotions into words. They cared about the people around them and they were all family, but it had long since been decided that everyone cared for their own more than they cared for the rest. It was only natural, but Rick—their leader—had made it clear that they better give into those feelings. They better not fight them. He was always going to care for his first, and always at the expense of the group. That was accepted, but nobody was going to pretend that they didn't understand his lessons loud and clear. They, too, would have watch their own backs first and everyone else's second.

It was the law of the land, no matter how cruel it might seem. And maybe Daryl was right, maybe they were all simply human.

Daryl normally did what he could to care for the group, but once Carol had seen him live up to the promise that he would take care of his first. At the time, though, Carol hadn't even realized that Daryl considered her and Sophia to be anything more to him than group-related family.

They had been on a farm. They'd ended up there fleeing Atlanta when the CDC had exploded and forced them on the road again. They'd encountered a traffic snare on the highway that would take them days to clear. A herd had come through that was one of the largest they'd ever seen. There had been Walkers everywhere and they'd all had to fight with everything they had to survive the passing herd. It was clear that they weren't going to survive if they had to sleep on the highway. Several of them had gone in search of shelter. They'd branched off in different directions. Nobody had ever expected Rick's son, Carl, to be shot, but it had happened and it was an accident. The man who had shot the boy took them to the farm. The whole group had come following after.

Hershel was family to them now, and Carol cared for the old man dearly, but in the beginning he had not been warm or welcoming. He'd banished them all to sleep outside and the fever had washed over all of them. Whether the fever was the result of some changing weather or whether it was something floating in the atmosphere after the turn or the explosion of the CDC, Carol had no way of knowing. All she'd known was that her daughter had fallen ill. Her baby girl had struggled to hold onto life and Carol had known true fear—a kind of fear that had far outweighed any fear she'd felt until that point.

She'd truly believed she might hold her child while she breathed her last breath.

There had been some antibiotics, but all of them had gone to Carl. There had been none left for Sophia and Carol had been truly helpless. Tylenol and nothing else that she could scrounge up or beg from the others did anything for Sophia.

And then Daryl came back. He came back from a run that he'd taken by himself. It was a run that he'd announced to nobody. He came back from a run that he'd taken on a stolen horse. He came back bleeding and injured, but he came back just the same. Ad he came back with antibiotics that he delivered directly to the hands of the old man and demanded that he use them to find a way to cure Sophia.

Carol remembered how angry Daryl had been when Rick had requested some of the antibiotics for Carl who had already taken everything they'd found. She remembered how angry Daryl had been when other sick members of the group had come begging for some relief.

Bloody, exhausted, and weakened, Daryl had stood ready to fight them—one at a time and with nothing more than his hands—on the porch of the farmhouse. Carol remembered that others had backed away from him, some of them whispering suggestions of rabies or calling him feral.

She had never felt more drawn to him, though, than she had that night. It was the first indication that he might consider her and Sophia to be more than simple travelling companions thrust upon him by the luck of the draw.

She'd given him a kiss that night. The first of many. And he had acted like it did as much as to heal his soul as the antibiotics did to heal Sophia's illness-wracked body.

That was also the night that it had become clear in the group that they were all family—but there was an animal law in place that simply stated that we take care of our own first.

Carol leaned herself against Daryl.

"You're a good man," she said. It was something she often told him. She reminded him of it often, in case he might forget. She never wanted him to forget that.

"We'll look for 'em tomorrow," Daryl said. "They prob'ly just got caught up somewhere. It was gettin' dark an' they decided to stay the night. It was safer there than it was tryin' to get back here. We'll go out tomorrow an' we'll find 'em after breakfast."

"I promised Sophia you'd be there to wake her up," Carol said. "That you'd get her breakfast. I didn't—I didn't know what else to tell her when you hadn't come back. I didn't want her to worry, and it was the only way she was going to bed without you."

"You done good," Daryl informed her, rubbing her back. He sighed. Carol could tell that something was bothering him, and she had the feeling that it wasn't Sophia. Maybe it wasn't even Glenn and Maggie.

Carol sat up and furrowed her brow at him. He mirrored her expression. He nipped at the side of his thumb with his teeth and Carol reached and took his hand in hers so that his nervous habit wouldn't cause him to injure himself. Even though a torn cuticle was hardly life-threatening, it was unnecessary if Carol could stop it.

"You don't sound too worried about Glenn and Maggie," Carol said.

"I think they just holed up somewhere," Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head. She was worried, but the explanation was a good one. Glenn and Maggie were practically run professionals. They were good at what they did and they seldom had trouble. It was perfectly reasonable to believe that they'd seen a reason to change their plans and that's what they'd done. It was entirely likely that they'd be back at the gates before anyone had eaten breakfast and planned what to do about trying to find them.

"Are you worried about Sophia?" Carol asked. "She's fine. I told her that you got held up. I told her that you had a lot to do and it was making you late, but that you were coming back. I told her you'd see her in the morning."

Daryl shook his head.

"Then what are you worried about?" Carol asked. "Can I help you?"

Daryl chewed his lip, then, and his eyes darted away from Carol. She fought the urge to reach for his face and draw his eyes back to her. Instead, she gave him a moment to sit with his thoughts and she took comfort in the feeling of him working her hand in his.

"It ain't nothin' except—I was worried about you. I didn't like leavin' you. I don't—never like leavin' you. Maybe—I like leavin' you even less now."

Carol smiled to herself. She squeezed his hand in hers.

"I'm here," she said. "And you're here—and it'll all work out."

Daryl leaned and requested a kiss which Carol very gladly granted.

"Let's stop worryin' for the night an' just let's deal with all in the morning? Let me just be happy that'cha...that'cha here? With me? Go to bed with me, Smooshy?" Daryl asked, smiling to himself at the strange new pet name that he seemed to have latched onto. Carol let him have it.

She swallowed down some laughter and nodded her head.

"Your children are wearing me out," Carol said. "Both of them. I thought you'd never ask, Pookie."

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111

 **AN: Someone mentioned the back story of this particular "Caryl" couple. They wanted something that would address how they got together, how Daryl became Sophia's Daddy, etc. Would you be interested in that?**

 **If so, would you be interested in it in something like flashback chapters that I put here, or would you be interested in a separate sort of fluffy/self-indulgent collection of goop like this one?**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Here we are, another chapter.**

 **I actually meant for this one to be shorter, but then I got carried away with it. LOL**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"OK—you listenin' to me?" Daryl asked. "You got it?"

He was sitting on the ground so that he could be at Sophia's level. He'd walked her through the whole thing several times, but it was always difficult to know whether she fully understood everything that he was telling her or if she simply agreed with him because she imagined that was what he wanted to hear.

Around them, the prison was still asleep. As was her practice, Sophia was the first awake. She hadn't beaten Daryl up by much, though, because there had still been sleep in her eyes when he'd come looking for her and found her waiting for him, right where he knew she'd be, in her little pen and bed combo.

The fire was getting going good to put the water on for breakfast, and the cows had been milked. They could gather eggs and cook meat to make the meal complete, but Daryl wasn't handling everything. He'd gotten it started. Now he had other things to do that he didn't want to put off. When everyone was up and stirring around, they'd start to try to figure out what to do about Glenn and Maggie's situation. It was highly possible that Daryl would be leaving the prison again—maybe even for a few days while they searched—and there were things that he wanted done before he left.

Sophia stared at him like Carol did when she was bored with him.

"You got it, Soph?" Daryl pressed.

"Yes, Daddy," she responded. "I'm hungry," she whined a half-second later.

"You do what I asked you to do," Daryl said, "an' Daddy's gonna get'cha the best breakfast you ever had, Soph. Everythin' you want. Much as you want."

"Milk," Sophia offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Do what I asked you to do an' you gonna have your choice of milk, OK?" Daryl responded.

Sophia sighed dramatically and pushed her hair out of her face with her hand.

"OK, Daddy," she said. "OK."

"Good," Daryl said. "Let's go, Soph."

He stood up and scooped up his daughter. He'd been calm until then, but suddenly his pulse kicked up. He even felt lightheaded for a split second and he stood still. He wanted to be sure that he wasn't about to pass out from standing up too quickly or getting too worked up. He didn't want to cause both himself and Sophia to topple to the ground. When he was sure he was steady, he kissed the side of Sophia's head, readjusted her weight on his hip, and headed back into the prison where everyone, more than likely, was still unaware that morning was starting to break.

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"We thought you'd still be in bed," Daryl said as he walked into the cell. He sounded disappointed about Carol's current condition.

Carol groaned at the bucket that she would take out later to dump and rinse. It was easier, if she was going to be sick every morning, to simply have a place where she could sit and suffer without having to go down to their bathrooms.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Carol said.

"You need somethin'?" Daryl asked.

"An exorcist, maybe," Carol said. She reached for the handkerchief that she'd brought to the floor with her to wipe her mouth, and Daryl put Sophia down before he went for the bowl of water they kept in their cell and a washrag. It had been an addition that they'd made for cleaning up other messes, but it had come in handy a great deal more lately than it ever had before. Daryl wet a rag and wrung out the water before he moved toward Carol.

Sophia, for her part, quickly came over to Carol and practically climbed her like a jungle gym to try to force her way into Carol's lap. Since she wasn't actively being sick at the moment, Carol readjusted her position so that she could sit on the floor and allow Sophia into her lap.

"Here, Mama," Sophia said, forcing something into Carol's face for Carol to play with. Carol moved to push it away, but then thought better of doing so. Sophia was a sensitive child, and she thought that one of the greatest rejections possible was to wave away an item she offered without first appreciating it.

Carol groaned a little at her desire to simply still be asleep—and not to be recovering from already being sick far longer than she wanted to be that morning—and reached for the toy.

"I believe this B-A-B-Y is trying to K-I-L-L me," Carol said.

Daryl handed her the washrag just as she took the item from Sophia and looked at it.

"Jesus!" Daryl growled, half-lunging for the black felt box that Carol was holding.

"Look, Mama! It's you. It's...it's...for you, Mama," Sophia said proudly.

Daryl made his best attempt to swipe the box out of Carol's hand and only missed by an inch because Carol moved her own hand.

"No!" Daryl barked. "No—this weren't how it was gonna go. It ain't how it was gonna go at all! Soph—ain't got no sense of timin'!"

Carol laughed, then, harder than she'd laughed in a very long time. She laughed harder than was appropriate for any situation where she still felt sick and was sitting on a hard floor next to a bucket into which she'd already been sick. She laughed harder and louder than she should have in a situation where she should have guarded some silence for the others in the prison.

Because Sophia started to cry at Daryl's clear displeasure with something that the two of them had, without a doubt, devised together, and Daryl looked like he was moments away from joining Sophia in her hysterics.

Carol simply used the rag that she'd used to wipe her mouth to cover it while she laughed. She didn't know what was in the box, but she could guess.

And when Daryl lowered himself down to sit on the floor and dragged Sophia to him to comfort her from her upset, he frowned at Carol like his whole world had come to an end.

Her chest ached at his sadness and her laughter subsided quickly. Sophia would get over her hurt feelings quickly and easily. Daryl might not bounce back so fast.

Carol wiped her mouth with the rag again and rested it on her leg. She moved herself on the floor so that she was farther away from her bucket and so that her back was against the side of the bed. She turned the box over in her hand.

"Am I allowed to open it, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"Whole thing's been ruined now," Daryl sulked. Carol swallowed a few times in rapid succession to keep the laughter down and her nausea at bay.

"I wouldn't say that," Carol said. She took his response as permission that she could open the box. She expected the diamond that she found inside, but she didn't expect it to be so beautiful. "Did you pick it out?" She asked.

"Who else would?" Daryl asked. His reply was short and sharp. If Carol didn't know him well enough to know why he was responding the way that he was, she might have taken it personally. She might have even feared that he was angry with her—and that was a sensation that could still send her stomach into knots, even though she knew that Daryl's anger was nothing like Ed's and never would be. "It oughta fit. Had a bit a' string. Measured your finger while you was sleepin'. If you even want it now."

Carol laughed to herself that time.

"Why wouldn't I want it?" Carol asked.

A few feet away, Sophia was crying quiet dragon tears—large drops of water that rolled down her cheeks—while she struggled to get her Daddy's attention by repeating his name over and over again.

"Whatta you want, Soph?" Daryl asked, ignoring Carol for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Daddy!" Sophia offered. "I'm sorry! I'm hungry!"

Carol was certain that the apology and the hunger were separate thoughts for Sophia. She was likely sorry for nothing except the fact that Daryl was clearly upset. She was hungry because it was time for her breakfast and Sophia believed that meals were important and should be treated as priorities. Even sadness was no reason to cancel a meal in Sophia's mind.

"Sophia—did you help Daddy with this?" Carol asked, holding up the box so that Sophia could see it. She recognized it and remembered it. Having someone's attention helped her to reign in her tears a little, and she swiped at her face and sucked back snot. She nodded her head.

"Yes, Mama," she said. "Yes! I help!"

"You did a good job helping your Daddy, baby," Carol offered.

Sophia looked pleased.

"I'm hungry," she responded, though, almost immediately dissolving into tears again.

In an attempt to save someone in the cell from their feelings, Carol simply lifted up the soft cotton shirt that she was wearing to reveal her breast. It was all the invitation that Sophia needed. She'd never stopped nursing, though she did it with a great deal less frequency now than she once had, of course, and she understood very well that milk was to be had if Carol offered her a breast. Sophia quickly made her way to Carol and Carol helped her get situated so that she could nurse.

With the baby coming, Carol would undoubtedly start to wean Sophia. She'd been holding off to keep her milk flowing, but that wouldn't be necessary any longer. The impending arrival would make sure that her milk didn't stop. It would be time to wean Sophia. The milk would still be there if there was an emergency.

But today wasn't the day, and this felt like its own kind of emergency, so Carol let Sophia nurse and she swallowed against the strangely melancholic feeling that rose up within her when she considered that one day—possibly very soon—it would be the very last time that she fed her daughter at her breast.

As soon as Sophia was calm, and one crisis felt handled, Carol looked back at Daryl. He was sitting, chewing on his thumb, and staring at her. He looked every bit as heartbroken as a body could look. Carol knew, too, that the nervous habit of chewing at his cuticle was another sign that he was struggling with some of his emotions.

She offered him a soft smile.

"Are you going to ask me, Daryl?" She asked.

He moved his thumb, but that only made his frown deepen.

"This wasn't the way this was supposed to happen," Daryl said. "It weren't the way none of it was supposed to happen."

"Why don't you tell me—how it was supposed to happen?" Carol pressed.

He swallowed a few times and looked around the cell.

"You was gonna still be in bed," he said. "I was gonna put her down there. She was gonna give you the ring an' tell you that it was from me to you. Then I was gonna ask you if you'd marry me."

Carol smiled at him.

"It's a beautiful proposal," Carol said.

"Woulda been," Daryl said.

"Is," Carol corrected. "Who are you mad it, Daryl? Her because she did what you asked her to do? The baby for—existing and making me sick? Or me for being sick because—because my body is adjusting to everything that's going on with a new baby growing inside me?"

"I wanted it to be perfect for you," Daryl said. "You deserve that."

"You make everything perfect for me," Carol said. She gently rubbed Sophia's back as Sophia nursed—entirely soothed by the experience and practically on another planet where nothing else mattered to her. "Look at my life, Daryl."

"Yeah," Daryl said. "You livin' in a prison in the middle of...all of this."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I'm living in a prison that's been a better home to me than the one I had before all of this," Carol said. "I feel safer now than I did before—even with the Walkers. I'm blessed because...I have you. And you came back last night, and even though the first thing I thought when I opened my eyes was that I felt sick, the second think I thought this morning was that I was so happy that God—and I know it was Him—God let you come back to me last night. I have Sophia and—and look at her. She's happy and healthy and...she's so blessed. And I'm..." She stopped and shook her head. She swallowed against the growing lump in her throat and she felt a tear roll down her cheek. One may have dropped onto Sophia, too, because Sophia petted her as though to remind her that she preferred her meal without a side of sadness if at all possible. Carol swallowed until she felt like she had her emotions under control. "I can barely say it still. It feels so unreal. I'm pregnant and that makes me...so happy. And I know that Sophia has the best Daddy in the whole world and...this baby...this baby is going to be so lucky, Daryl. And I'm lucky enough to live in the middle of all this."

Carol laughed to herself again and held up the ring box.

"And now," she said, but she didn't finish. Instead, she mopped at her face and thanked Daryl when he offered her one of his shirts—apparently the closest thing he could reach at the moment that she hadn't been using already.

"Thanks," she said softly.

"You the best damned thing that ever happened to me," Daryl said. "I didn't feel right askin' you when I knowed that we was supposed to be worried about—you know. About Glenn and Maggie. But I also was thinkin' about them an' how—you can't waste it. You can't waste time or opportunity or nothin'. I didn't wanna go lookin' for 'em without—without thinkin' about how...how I got you an' everything here an' you said you was gonna marry me. I just wanted to go out there thinkin' about how you said you was gonna marry me because...I guess I think it'd be the best thing that could happen to me. I'm gettin' everything I could want outta life. But I guess I still want more. Want you to marry me."

"Then ask me," Carol said softly.

"Whole proposal got ruined," Daryl said.

"Maybe the way you thought it would happen didn't work out," Carol said. "But the proposal hasn't happened yet. You still—you haven't asked me, Daryl."

He swallowed. Something in his expression changed entirely.

"Will you? Marry me...I mean?" He stammered out.

Carol smiled at him.

"Nothing could make me happier," she said.

His shoulders slumped as the tension left them and slowly his earlier frown was replaced with a smile.

"Really?" He asked.

"Absolutely," Carol said. "In fact—I could ask you the same thing. I mean—I just woke up. I've got vomit breath. I've got—one nipple in a toddler's mouth and...are you sure, Daryl? That you want me?"

He laughed.

"Ain't nothin' I want more," he said.

Carol held the box out and he came for it. Sophia decided she'd had enough milk and was more interested in what was going on than she was in nursing. The edge, at the very least, had been knocked off her hunger. She sat up and watched as Daryl crawled forward across the floor.

"You don't want it?" Daryl asked, concerned because she was returning the box to him.

"I want you to put it on me," Carol said, offering her hand to Daryl. He slid the ring on her finger and she admired it. "Perfect. Just like you."

"Like you," Daryl responded.

"I wanna see!" Sophia declared.

Carol showed her the ring.

"Isn't it beautiful, Sophia?" Carol asked.

"Oh yes!" Sophia agreed dramatically.

"It means Daddy asked Mama to love him forever," Daryl said. "An' to be with him forever. You think that's OK, Soph?"

Sophia looked at both of them like she thought it was an absurd question. She didn't even answer Daryl. Her expression said everything that he needed to know—she already assumed that this was common knowledge and, possibly, she felt a little sorry for Daryl that he was just now learning what she already knew.

Her expression made Daryl laugh.

"I need to get her settled," he said. He leaned toward Carol for a kiss and she turned her cheek toward him. He sat back, almost looking offended.

"Just let me brush my teeth," Carol offered. "And then—I'll be outside to help with the food."

Daryl understood, then, and he pecked her cheek.

"I love you, Pookie," Carol offered. Daryl laughed to himself. He stood up and reached down to gather Sophia up.

"I love you too, Smooshy," Daryl offered with a snort. Immediately upon hearing the ridiculous name, Sophia latched onto it with a laugh and repeated it several times. Daryl laughed at her antics and readjusted her. "We'll go get a start on breakfast," he said. "Milk ain't gonna hold Sophia but so long. You hungry, Soph?"

"Yes, Daddy," Sophia offered, dropping off her repetition of the name in favor of something much more important. "Yes. Yes. I'm hungry!"

Daryl and Carol both laughed. Carol refused Daryl's hand when he offered it to her.

"I'm just going to—take a few more minutes," Carol said.

"Take your time," Daryl said with some understanding. "We'll be here when you're ready for us."

Carol leaned her head back against the bed behind her. She laughed to herself as she listened to Sophia babbling to Daryl while they walked through the prison. She responded, enthusiastically, to a question he'd asked her about food.

Carol glanced at the ring on her finger. The weight of it felt strange and it felt foreign. It was a nice feeling, though, even if it was a little odd.

Like most of her feelings when it came to Daryl, this was the unusual and almost inexplicable sensation of extreme happiness in the heart of a time when such a feeling seemed entirely out of place. Despite its oddity, though, Carol was more than thankful for the feeling.

She'd never imagined that she'd know what absolute happiness was, but she was confident that she was feeling exactly that, and Daryl had brought it to her.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

 **AN: Everyone seemed interested in the back story, but I had about an even amount of people that weighed in with flashback, separate story, and either/undecided/undeclared.**

 **If I do "flashback," then probably what I'd do is just put "Flashback" at the top of those chapters (whenever I decided to write them) and put them in throughout this story. They wouldn't be necessarily in order. If I do separate story, then it would be a collection of chapters that go in order to tell (at the very least) pieces of their back story.**

 **With that clarification, I'll ask once more what you're interested in so I can somewhat tally the votes and figure out which way you'd prefer me to do this. I'd like for it to be done the way that you'd most enjoy reading. Thanks!**

 **And, please, let me know what you think of the chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I decided to do the back story in the form of a separate story/collection. It's under "Becoming" for anyone who is interested. I will include some discussion of their past here, as I would in any story, but the more detailed version of their past can be found there.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

The breakfast cakes had been a creation of Daryl's that had been born out of the limited ingredients that they sometimes found and the need to make something that they could easily carry when they needed to eat breakfast while on the move. The breakfast had been born while they were on the road between the farm that they'd temporarily called home and the prison that they now called home. They had wandered for quite some time, and to take some of the burden off of Carol—especially since it seemed that nobody else was going to do such a thing—Daryl had offered to do part of the cooking. It had been Sophia that had dubbed the breakfast "Daddycakes."

Daddycakes were relatively healthy and quite heavy. They were meant to be filling, and they came through on that point if nothing else. They were hearty, made mostly of grains that were easy to come by, and were sweetened with just a little sugar. They could easily be cooled on a griddle or, in a pinch, on any piece of metal that could be heated over a fire. If syrup, honey, or even a little jam was available, Daddycakes had the potential to quickly become a group favorite. Even plain Daddycakes, though, were enjoyed every time that Daryl served them—or every time that Carol made them in his absence.

Daddycakes weren't a daily breakfast. They were mostly made for the days when the group needed to travel and they needed breakfast to go with them. They were also made for special occasions. Daryl had promised Sophia the breakfast of her choice to celebrate helping him with the all-important job of asking her mother to marry him.

Their engagement, though probably of relatively little importance to the rest of the group, felt like a very special occasion to Daryl, so he certainly hadn't refused his daughter when she'd requested Daddycakes as her special breakfast. Daryl had even rummaged through storage to find her a little strawberry jam that would make the breakfast even more special.

Most of the group ate inside the prison at a long table that had probably once been for meetings, or perhaps even for lunches. They used the table as a dinner table. They'd moved it to their common area. None of them dared to go into the cafeteria since they'd first broken in there with the few prisoners that they'd found at the prison—two of which remained as members of their group. The cafeteria had an incredible stench that was impossible to clean at this point, so they'd simply gotten all they could use out of that area, and they'd sealed it up to be forgotten or, if there was some great change in the stat of things, cleaned up later.

Daryl, Carol, and Sophia usually preferred to eat outside when the weather permitted. There was a nice picnic table in the yard, and they ate as many of their meals there as was possible. This particular morning, T-Dog and Hershel had both joined them for breakfast outside to discuss the situation at hand. Daryl wondered if either of the men had noticed the ring on Carol's finger, but it seemed that, at least for the time being, both of them were more focused on the strategy that they would use to find Glen and Maggie.

Daryl hated to inform both of them, but he had very little to offer in the way of true strategy. They knew roughly where the two had gone, and they would go there in search of them. If they couldn't find them in that direct location, they would start looking for any kinds of signs of where they might've gone. Daryl was a tracker, but he hated to try to explain to everybody that that didn't mean that he was a miracle worker. He couldn't track if there were no tracks to follow. They all seemed to expect him to be able to track nearly anything over nearly any surface and under nearly any conditions, but the fact of the matter was that it just didn't work that way. He would only be able to track Maggie and Glenn if the conditions were just right. Otherwise, like everyone else, he was looking for clues and signs, and he was hoping for the best.

Of course, Daryl was the only one in the prison who was not terribly worried about the young couple's whereabouts. He knew that the two of them were sometimes given to finding a quiet place where they could temporarily escape the prying eyes of the group. There was no such thing as a secret in the group. They all lived in close quarters, and they had lived that way since they'd all found one another. They could pretend that they didn't know each other's business, but most of them knew just about everything about the others. Sound traveled, and the prison echoed. Everything about their relationships was pretty much common knowledge to everybody else. Only things spoken in very hushed whispers were kept private, and even then people were aware that you were keeping secrets, even if they weren't sure what the secrets were. Sometimes Maggie and Glenn just want to find a little time alone, and they found that by slipping off during runs and searching out places where they could be safe for short periods of time.

"There really ain't no need in comin' up with some detailed plan," Daryl said. "We'll throw it all out the window when we get there anyway. We'll have to figure out what we're doin' dependin' on what the hell we see when we get there. If we find 'em at the store an' find out they was just sleepin' among the campin' gear, then the plan ends there at any rate. If they're not there, an' say the door was chained up so we knowed they hadn't been there, then we're lookin' to come up with an entirely different plan than anything we mighta come up with sittin' at this table."

"Have we ever even been in that direction?" Carol asked. "Do we know what's out there?"

Across the table from Daryl, she was picking at a Daddycake with her fingertips and eating crumb-sized mouthfuls of it like a bird. Sophia, standing on the bench next to Daryl and supported by his arm around her waist, was eating her jam covered Daddycake with both hands. For the moment, the two women in his life offered a stark contrast to one another.

"We kind of talked about," Daryl responded, "but we never made it that way."

"It was always on our list of places to explore," T-Dog said, "but with the pattern we were following, we hadn't made it there yet."

"Well, it looks like we're going to start exploring it," Hershel intervened.

"Sooner than we thought," Daryl agreed. He glanced at Carol again. "Cake ain't good? Or you wantin' somethin' else?"

Carol shook her head.

"It's good," she assured him. "It's just—I'm taking it slow."

"Little Dixon's doing a number on you," T-Dog mused.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I was sick it seemed like the whole time when I was pregnant with Sophia," she said. "They said it would end around my third or fourth month. But I think I was sick up until the sixth or seventh month. Sometimes even after that. This isn't anything like it was with Sophia. But still, I can't say that breakfast is my favorite meal of the day right now."

"You don't have to eat it all right now," Daryl assured her. "It'll keep if you want to eat it at lunch."

"Or even as a snack in between," Hershel offered. "When food is available, and women are growing little ones, a good rule of thumb is to eat when you're hungry—whenever that may be." He reached his hand across the table and patted Carol's hand. He raised an eyebrow at her. "But don't push it. If you're not hungry, then you can eat later. It's better to wait when you and baby Dixon are both ready."

It seemed that Daryl's lack of concern over Maggie and Glenn turned out to be less a show of his callousness, and more a show of his practicality. Before they could even think of finishing breakfast, the sound of an approaching vehicle caught their attention. Almost immediately, Daryl recognized the SUV that Glenn and Maggie had taken. It pulled up to the gates and stopped. Through the windshield, Daryl could see the two lost group members sitting and waiting patiently to be let inside the fences. It was long trip down to the gates for someone to make, so this was a time when their patience would serve them well.

"Looks like the prodigal sons have returned," Daryl commented. "Glad we didn't send no search party out just yet. I'll get 'em."

As Daryl started to walk down the yard to open the fences and allow the SUV to pass inside, Sophia abandoned her breakfast and trotted after him. Breakfast, after all, would be there when she got back, and she had already eaten enough that she had room for other interests. The trip down to the gate, unlike breakfast, was only available for a limited amount of time. Daryl stopped his steps when Sophia called out to him, and then in a quick motion, he waited for her to catch up to him and he scooped her up. She was sticky—her face and hands covered in a layer of strawberry jam—but he wasn't going to upset her by sending her back to her mother to get cleaned up. Such a move would make her miss the excitement of going with him to open the gates, and she might not forgive him for the better part of the day. There was no law against stickiness, after all. Daryl balanced Sophia on his hip so that she could ride down to the gates. This would allow him to get there quicker, and thus to keep Maggie and Glenn from having to wait quite so long, but he might let Sophia run back after the job was done.

When he reached the lowest level of gates, Daryl did what he always did with Sophia when they were near the outside fences. He chose the spot in the dirt and, dragging his foot quite hard cross the ground, he marked a line that was far enough back that any Walker doing its best to reach through the fence couldn't possibly have touched the line. Then, dragging his foot hard across the dirt again, he drew another line perpendicular to the first. The second line was at a distance where, if a Walker were to slip inside the gates, Daryl could be confident that he could reach the spot before the Walker did. The lines formed something like an invisible cage and Daryl put Sophia down so that she was "behind" the lines.

He pointed his finger at her to get her attention after he showed her the two lines that marked where she was supposed to remain.

"Stay here, Soph. Right here. You see your space? You stay in it. You got me?"

Sophia looked at him and nodded her head.

"Yes, Daddy," she said. "We got this."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"We got this," he repeated. Leaving her in her spot, Daryl walked over and unlocked the gates. He slid the first layer of entrance gates back, stepped through them, and then closed them. He cast a glance in Sophia's direction to make sure that she was following orders, and she was. She was usually pretty good about doing what he asked her to do. At the moment, she had bent down to examine the line that Daryl drew very closely. More than likely, she was looking to see if she might find a creepy crawly friend to take with her back to the prison.

Convinced that the first set of gates was closed, Daryl opened the last ones to allow the SUV to pass inside. Pulling his knife, he took care of two Walkers that had, probably hearing the engine of the vehicle, come to see if they could find something to eat. He dropped them outside of the fences and left them there for cleanup later that day. Once the SUV and passed into the gates, he closed the gates again, locked them back where he'd opened them with the master key that he carried on him at all times, and then he opened the gates to allow the SUV to pass fully inside of the prison fences. From there, Glenn could drive the vehicle all the way up to the prison since Daryl hadn't bothered to close any of the other layers of fences as he'd passed through them.

Once everything was secured again, Daryl released Sophia from her believed captivity, and he pointed toward the prison. He didn't even have to say anything to her. She smiled at him the minute that she saw him point, and she took off running in the same direction as the SUV. She ran as fast as she pleased and Daryl walked behind her. He could remember the joy and the feeling of absolute freedom that running like that had given him as a child. He assumed it was a feeling that everyone could relate to.

Daryl walked behind his daughter instead of launching into running as fast as he could like she had. She looked over her shoulder and called back to him.

"Watch where you're goin', Soph," Daryl called out. "Don't'cha fall an' break your neck!"

Sophia laughed at his warning, but she did turn around and continued to run back toward the prison that they called home.

Daryl, for his part, simply followed behind her, watching her run with absolute joy, and slowly made his way up to the prison to find out what had happened to keep Maggie and Glenn from catching up with him and T-Dog as they had originally planned.

No matter what story they gave, though, Daryl was pretty sure he already knew the truth—and he couldn't blame the two young lovebirds at all for a little private time stolen however it could be.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I need to make it clear that this will have some canon parts to it, but it will be breaking with the show a great deal.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl was almost certain that the herd that Maggie and Glenn reported wasn't real. At the very least, it wasn't a herd of such epic proportions that it kept them stuck in a store overnight. He sincerely doubted that such a herd, if it had existed and had surrounded them because they'd caught the attention of the Walkers, would simply dissipate when morning rose to allow the two of them to return to the prison just in time to avoid them being found out by a search party.

Looking around, Daryl didn't know if anybody listening bought the story about the herd or if they were all simply willing to suspend their disbelief to hear more about the area that Glenn and Maggie had uncovered when they weren't holed up somewhere.

Daryl wouldn't want to deny the two any privacy they had found for a good quality fuck. A private moment, these days, was hard to come by. You either had to be pretty sneaky, or you had to simply accept that everybody was going to know your business and decide that you just didn't care.

Daryl had learned not to care, even if things had made him a little uncomfortable in the beginning. Everyone in the prison knew that he and Carol were together—even more so now than before, perhaps, with the existence of the little one they'd accidentally created—and there was no need to try to be coy about things. Life was short and he enjoyed Carol in every way possible.

Of course, Daryl and Carol weren't living in close quarters with her father and baby sister. He could see how that might rub some of the shine off Glenn's good time.

"The place isn't half as picked over as we thought it would be," Glenn said.

"And yet you come back practically empty-handed," Daryl commented.

"We were in a hurry," Maggie somewhat stammered out.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Had to get outta there 'fore the herd caught up with you again," Daryl offered. "I forgot."

"The point is that there's some stuff there that's worth going back for," Glenn said.

"I bet there's a lot worth goin' back there for," Daryl mused.

He felt Carol's foot make contact with his shin under the table and he swallowed down his laughter. He cast a glance at her, but she wasn't making eye contact with him. She was sitting, her chin on her hand, smiling at the two storytellers like they were absolutely fascinating. There was no indication that she was every bit as aware as Daryl was that the two of them hadn't been looking for a single thing out there except an orgasm—which they'd very likely found—and now she was kicking Daryl under the table to keep him from embarrassing anyone.

"We'll arrange a run," Rick said. "Tomorrow or the next day. We'll take a couple of vehicles and clear the whole area at once."

"I don't think it's a good idea," Glenn said quickly.

Daryl swallowed down his urge to point out that Glenn wouldn't want anyone disturbing his love nest. Instead, he turned his attention to watching Sophia at a distance where she sat on the floor and drove the few pieces of a wooden train that she treasured across the floor and hauled rocks and other small items around in one of the open cars that was made for hauling just such little pieces.

He lost himself watching Sophia long enough that he missed most of Glenn's reasoning over why it was a bad idea to take a run team, and had to ask that he repeat himself.

Glenn only looked slightly annoyed. He'd probably spent most of the night getting laid and he was probably in the best mood he'd been in for a very long time. It was going to take a lot to piss him off.

"It would draw too much attention," Glenn said. "We're not alone out here."

"You saw somethin' besides Walkers out there?" Daryl asked.

"We saw tire tracks," Maggie said. "Fresh ones and a fair amount of them. The area near the shopping center had some dirt roads that led out through the woods. We didn't go that way, but we did see the tracks."

"You trackers, now?" Daryl asked. "How do you know they was fresh tracks?"

"It's been probably a month since it rained," Glenn said. "We can't swear that the tracks happened last week, but we know that they happened since it rained. They would have washed away, wouldn't they?"

Daryl hummed.

"They'da washed away," he confirmed.

"If there are people out there," Rick said, "then that's all the more reason that more of us should go and not just send the two of you again. You don't know who's out there or how far away they are. You don't know if they could come back. It would make more sense to take a group."

"There's safety in numbers, yes," Glenn said. "But it's just like it was in Atlanta. It's just like it's always been. There's safety in numbers, but there's also danger in numbers. If we get too many of us out there, we're tripping over each other. We're not as effective. At the same time, we draw more attention. Maggie and I going in with one truck isn't going to draw too much attention. If we all roll in there, we're almost sure to get the attention of someone."

"If there's anybody around," Daryl offered.

Glenn nodded.

"I don't like the idea of Maggie going out there," Hershel said. "Not if there are people out there that we don't know anything about."

"Daddy—I'm grown up now," Maggie said. "And we don't even know what kind of people they are. They might be good people."

"And they might not be," Hershel said. "We've found both kinds."

"We gonna find all kinds," Daryl offered, "if we go on long enough."

"Glenn and I are good at runs," Maggie said. "All we need is something big enough to bring back whatever we find. We can explore the area. If there's more than we can get in a day, we'll go back. It's worth it, really, just to know what's in that direction. There might be something we can use, especially with the winter coming."

Rick and Hershel both looked at Daryl. He was pretty sure that they wanted him to say something about the two of them not going on the run, but he didn't feel there was really anything to say. The two of them had proven themselves many times over. They were good at runs. They were capable. There was really no reason to deny them the run if they wanted to take it.

And Daryl wasn't really in the mood to take the run himself. He knew full well, too, that he'd be "elected" for the run if more than just Glenn and Maggie were deemed necessary to complete it.

"That truck T and I found is plenty big enough for whatever the hell you might find," Daryl said. "We loaded her down, though, so it's gonna take a couple days to clear her out an' move everything to storage. Less, maybe, if we get everybody workin'. Once it's clear—it oughta get you there an' back if you don't detour too far."

Daryl laughed to himself at the variety of responses that he got. Maggie and Glenn looked ready to kiss him. Rick looked like he normally did—concerned or constipated, whichever it was that put that deep line between his eyebrows. Hershel looked a little annoyed. And Carol looked pleased—and that was really the only expression that mattered to Daryl.

He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, "I got some things on that truck I been meanin' to clear off since you two went an' got'cha selves lost all last night."

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"I don't pretend that I know a lot about this stuff," Daryl said, "but—that's why the hell I come to you about it."

There was no real love between Daryl and Lori Grimes.

They didn't love each other, and they didn't hate each other. They merely accepted each other's existence and moved on with their lives.

There were things that Daryl had done that Lori didn't agree with. She thought he was, overall, a dirty and ignorant redneck. Whether or not she'd based that opinion of him on fact or first impression, it didn't matter. Daryl had seen her curl her lip at him more than once when she thought he wasn't looking. He'd seen the expression, too, that Lori sometimes made at Carol when she was reminded that Carol and Daryl were not only a couple, but they were clearly intimately involved.

Even though Carol wouldn't ever say anything about it, Daryl was pretty sure that he'd heard Lori trying to convince Carol that Daryl was probably bad for her.

But he didn't care because he wasn't going to pretend that Lori was his favorite person either.

He had seen Lori Grimes manipulate two men to the point that they'd been ready to kill one another over what he assumed must be the best pussy that either of them had ever tasted—as his brother had always been fond of saying.

Daryl didn't care, one way or another, who anybody was fucking. As long as Carol wasn't fucking anybody else, it didn't affect him one way or another. Lori had been fucking Shane solidly when the Dixons had first found the group, to the point that Daryl had assumed that the two of them had been together for a long time. He'd never been able to figure out, though, why they were trying to hide their escapades—unless it was that they didn't want her kid to know what they were doing—until he'd been out hunting with Merle one day and Merle had filled in enough of the story for him that Daryl had somehow missed. Merle liked gossip a good bit more than Daryl did, though, so he paid good attention to it. Lori had been married to Shane's partner as a cop. Her husband had been killed just as the world had gone belly up. She'd ridden Shane's dick all the way to safety.

At least that was how Merle had told it. And he was at least half-right because Shane made sure that Lori and her kid, first and foremost, were safe—just like any man in love would do, Daryl assumed.

But then Rick had come back just as Merle had disappeared out of Daryl's life. Rick had been the reason, really, that Daryl had lost his brother—though Daryl understood that Merle had contributed a great deal to his own downfall. Rick Grimes was their fearless leader or, at the very least, he pretended to be such. Rick Grimes was a decent guy, but he had a bit of a power issue from time to time. He wanted to be leader and most of them let him be leader because it was a shit job. Besides that, every group needed someone to follow and it was easier to let him lead than it was to stage some kind of revolt.

Rick wasn't a problem in himself, and his coming back hadn't been an issue for the group, but it had caused some trouble with Lori and Shane. Rather than admit what had happened while they'd believe him to be dead, Lori and Shane had launched into a game of trying to pretend that they hadn't been fucking like the end of the world was within spitting distance.

Rick wanted his wife back, naturally, and Shane didn't want to let his beloved piece go.

And Lori seemed unable to decide between the two, or else she was unwilling to ever let go of any of that safety—as Merle had identified what she'd seen in Shane—that she found in either one of them.

They hadn't done a very good job of hiding the tension that built up between the three of them. Daryl hadn't minded it, of course, because it didn't have much to do with him, but he'd still kept his eyes on all of them to make sure that the explosion of their shit-show didn't land all over him and his.

Shane was dead now and, arguably, so was Lori and Rick's marriage.

But nobody talked about that with their mouths even if everyone talked about it with their eyes.

Daryl didn't care what they did with their lives, but he recognized that Lori could have changed the outcome of things if she'd handled herself differently. He didn't care who she fucked, but he hadn't liked her manipulation of the two men. Honesy could have made things work out very differently—but that was none of Daryl's business.

And the only reason he'd ever mentioned it to anyone was to make sure that Carol knew that he appreciated the idea of honesty and openness and, apparently, she did too.

"Nobody gives a woman a baby shower when she's not even showing, Daryl," Lori said.

Daryl chewed at his cuticle.

"But they could," Daryl said.

"It's not what people do," Lori said.

"Comin' back from the dead to eat people weren't what people used to do," Daryl said. "But they sure as shit do it now. It's what I want."

Lori laughed to herself and it crawled around under Daryl's skin.

"Well, just like you would tell Sophia, you don't always get what you want," Lori said.

Daryl didn't hide his expression, but he did bite his tongue. He knew about a thousand times more about not getting everything you wanted in life than this bitch ever had. He resisted the urge to tell her that—and to tell her what she could do to herself, something he was sure that her husband had given up doing some time ago. Daryl swallowed back his annoyance.

"She oughta have somethin' like that," Daryl said. "We got the time an' the calm for it."

"You don't do something like that this early," Lori said.

"Why can't you do it any damn time you want?" Daryl asked.

"Because a pregnancy that new, Daryl? Sometimes they don't even make it," Lori said. "It just ends." Daryl's stomach twisted up. He returned his thumb to his mouth to soothe away the feeling of nausea. "I didn't mean to upset you," Lori said. "It's just the way it is sometimes. You don't want to celebrate too early. Besides—there are things that I need now for Judith. I can't wait three or four more months."

"Fuck you," Daryl stammered. He surprised himself to hear the words tumble out of his mouth. He hadn't mean to say them. He'd meant to keep them for himself. Carol wouldn't be happy when she heard that they'd dribble out of his mouth—and she would hear about it. But he hadn't been able to stop himself and he couldn't suck the words back up out of existence. Now that he'd said it, though, and knowing that he was likely to be scolded for having said something crass, he figured he might as well say all that he had to say. "Take whatever the hell you want. She'll get your damn leftovers, like she always does, an' I'll go lookin' for some shit later. I don't need your help—some damn body else'll help me."

Daryl turned, ignoring everything that Lori tried to say to him, and walked away as quickly as he could. He headed toward the fence. He'd decide what he was going to do once he got down there. For now he just needed the air.

What he'd said to Lori hadn't taken away the nauseous feeling entirely, but it had helped him feel at least a little bit better—for the time being.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Daryl you can't just—well, you can't just tell people 'fuck you' whenever it comes to mind," Carol said.

Her voice was unusually soft and not scolding at all. Her expression, too, was soft and she was smiling just a little. She'd asked Beth to watch Sophia for a few moments and she'd taken Daryl to their cell. Now they were sitting on the bed, facing each other, while she brushed his hair out of his face and lectured him gently on what he could and couldn't say to people.

Lori hadn't wasted any time at all in finding Carol.

But Carol didn't seem angry at all. She hadn't even seemed angry when she'd found him down by horse pasture, pretending to be thinking about improvements that could be made or whatever else he'd offer someone if they asked what he was doing. She hadn't asked him what he was doing. She'd simply slipped her hand into his and tugged him gently behind her and back to the prison. She'd taken him directly to their cell after asking Beth if she was sure that she was fine with Sophia—and the girl had insisted she was.

"I didn't mean to say it," Daryl said. "Slipped out."

"And did the rest of it slip out?" Carol asked. She raised her eyebrows at Daryl. "She didn't tell me what you said, but she did say that it was rude and hurtful."

"Fuck her," Daryl said. "And I mean that. I don't need her tattlin' on my ass an' tryin' to make you pissed at me."

"I'm not pissed at you," Carol said.

"I told her to take whatever the fuck she wanted off the truck," Daryl said. "Said you'd get her damned leftovers like you always do. Said I'd look for more stuff later. It mighta not been nice to say it, but the only damned reason that it hurt her feelings is 'cause she knowed I was tellin' the truth. She's been takin' shit first since the beginning. It's always the best for Lori and the dregs for everybody else. Even took food outta your mouth at too many meals."

"I always offered her food when she was pregnant," Carol said. "It's the right thing to do. She was—becoming a mother again. She was eating for two. She needed more than a regular helping."

"An' you was nursin' Soph," Daryl said. "But weren't nobody offerin' you enough to feed you an' her besides." He felt his muscles bunch and tense at the memory of some of the time they'd spent travelling and living under some pretty meagre conditions. "Come to think of it, I don't see nobody offerin' you shit now. An' you every bit as pregnant as she was."

"We have enough to eat, Daryl," Carol said. "Nobody has to go without for me to eat."

"You best be eatin' your fill," Daryl said. "Don't'cha be worryin' about no rations or nothin' like that. You get what'cha need. I found most them damn seeds—cans—even hunt the meat. You don't let nobody tell you—an' I mean nobody—that'cha can't eat what'cha want."

"Shhh," Carol hissed softly, running her fingers through Daryl's hair. He closed his eyes to the sensation of her touch and the tug of her fingers catching a tangle here or there. "There's no reason to be upset. I'm eating, Daryl. Nobody's asked me to be hungry. I'm fine. I'm eating. Sophia's eating. There's no reason to be upset."

If it had been anyone else, Daryl might have been offended by their efforts to soothe him, but he enjoyed when Carol soothed him because he never felt that she was patronizing him. Carol cared for him and that was all there was to it. Her efforts to soothe him were no different than his efforts to soothe her when such a thing was necessary.

Daryl drank up the affection. He savored it. He always had. He was lucky that Carol offered it in such abundance.

"She ain't told you why I said what I did," Daryl said.

"She said that—she mentioned the fact that the pregnancy might fail, Daryl," Carol said. "That I might—lose the baby."

Daryl opened his eyes to her. Her brow was furrowed, now, but her expression was still soft.

"You won't," Daryl said.

"I might," Carol said. "It's just—nature. Sometimes it happens. It happened to me before. Before Sophia. I barely even knew I was pregnant before I just—wasn't." Carol shrugged her shoulders at him. "I was sad—a little bit. But, honestly, I'd known about it so little time that it didn't even feel really real."

"It's real this time," Daryl said.

"It's real," Carol said. "And I would be heartbroken if I were to lose this baby, but I can't promise you that I won't fail you."

Daryl reached up and caught Carol's hand with his. He shook his head at her.

"Don't say that," Daryl said. "I don't like it. I don't want'cha to lose the baby, but if you did? You ain't failed me. You said yourself it's just somethin' that happens."

Carol made a face, almost like she might cry, but she didn't cry. She twisted up her lips, got control of her expression, and then nodded her head quickly. She blew out her breath, though, making it clear to Daryl that she was teetering on the edge of being upset.

"This whole subject's done gone an' got you upset," Daryl said.

"I don't want to lose our baby," Carol said. She shrugged her shoulders and somewhat laughed to herself like her emotions amused her. A large dragon tear welled up in Carol's eye and she blinked it out. It rolled down her cheek and before she could reach to wipe it away, Daryl reached to wipe it away.

"I don't want'cha to neither," Daryl said. "But we got no reason to think you will, do we? I mean—it's possible but there ain't no reason to think...to think it's gonna happen. Is there? There somethin' you ain't tellin' me?"

Carol shook her head and a few more of the large drops of water rolled down her cheeks. Daryl caught them with is hands as quickly as he could. He leaned and kissed her forehead. When he pulled away, she was half-smiling with her eyes closed.

"No," she breathed out. "No—there's nothing I'm not telling you. Hershel says I'm in good health. There's no reason to believe that the baby wouldn't be. Everything looks good. Just like he said it should."

"So why you so worried?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself and pawed at her eyes. She sniffed and Daryl found a handkerchief that he offered her. She blew her nose and thanked him as she wiped at her nose.

"I guess it's just hormones," Carol said. "I hadn't thought about it. I hadn't worried about it until now. I guess the same reason it made you mad. I just don't want to imagine it. I want this for us."

"Then we gonna have it," Daryl said. "I'm serious, Carol. Even if somethin' was just to happen then there's next time an' that's all there is to it. I want it. You want it. We gonna have it."

Carol swallowed against her emotions, but it was clear that she was feeling better. The hint of a smile on her lips was more sincere and her eyes weren't producing more dampness for her cheeks. She nodded her head.

"We're going to have it," she echoed. "It feels—right. The timing feels right. Everything feels good and right."

"It's good an' right," Daryl echoed.

"But you can't tell Lori 'fuck you' whenever you feel like it," Carol said. "You just can't. You'll have to apologize."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Now I know them hormones got you drunk or high or some shit," Daryl said. "I ain't apologizin' to Lori Grimes. No way an' no how. Maybe it weren't nice to say what I said, but I meant what I said. Fuck her. It was me an' T that went to find that shit. Rick wouldn'ta gone lookin' for it. I found what I found for you. T did too. We was thinkin' of you an' then I went out there to try to ask her to help me do somethin' nice an' she's all worried about how soon she's gonna get in there an' get whatever the hell she wants—long 'fore you get it any of it. An' then she's tellin' me about how...about how...well, you know what she was sayin'."

"What did you want from her, Daryl?" Carol asked.

Daryl frowned at her.

"I wanted it to be a surprise, but it's pretty damn clear that it ain't gonna happen now anyway," Daryl said. "I wanted you to have one of them party things. Where we give you the stuff off the truck but it's like presents for you an' the baby."

"A baby shower?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

Carol laughed to herself.

"That's not really how a baby shower works," Carol said. "It used to be where everyone bought gifts for the baby."

"I was gonna give everyone somethin' to give," Daryl offered.

"And Lori wouldn't help?" Carol asked.

"She said it was too early. Said you don't do it for a woman who was just as pregnant as you were 'cause you might not be pregnant and then it was` just a waste."

"She said that?" Carol asked.

"In her own damn way, she did," Daryl said.

Carol leaned up and kissed him. She pressed her lips to his and Daryl came after her seeking a real kiss. A good kiss. She gave him that. The kiss she offered was good enough that he thought about pushing her back on the bed right then to take advantage of a few moments without Sophia needing things from them. He didn't do it, though. Instead, he simply urged her to let him enjoy the kiss for a few moments longer before they broke apart.

"I want you to know that I appreciate the fact that you wanted to throw me a baby shower more than I could ever appreciate any real baby shower," Carol said. "It's perfect."

"It ain't real," Daryl said.

"I can see it in my mind," Carol said. "And I can feel the love behind it in my heart. It's as real to me as anything else. And I love it. And I love you for doing it."

Daryl's stomach twisted a little and his chest tightened.

"I want'cha to have it," he said. "She ain't got no right to tell me that'cha can't. I found the damned stuff. It was me an' T that risked our necks out there gettin' it. She can't say shit about it."

Carol shushed him again. She smiled at him.

"Maybe you could give me some of the things? The ones that you most wanted me to have?" Carol asked. "Just because Lori wouldn't help you, doesn't mean you can't do it. I can help you."

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Daryl said. "Now it ain't gonna be that."

"Showers never were," Carol said. "At least not that I know of. I never had one with Sophia. It doesn't have to be a surprise. I'll help you. Beth. Maggie."

"She said you can't have it early," Daryl said.

"I think we can have it whenever you want," Carol said. "And—if I were to lose the baby? We'd have the things for the next time, right?"

Daryl swallowed and nodded.

"Right," he said.

"And we could let Lori have what she needs and everyone's happy," Carol said.

"She don't get first pick," Daryl said. "There's shit in there that I picked out special. I'ma be damned if she gets first pick of the whole damned truck."

Carol nodded her head.

"Then you get what you want," Carol said. "And she can have first pick of what's left."

"You mad at me?" Daryl asked.

"No," Carol said. "And I love you very, very much. And—I appreciate the surprise of your baby shower, Daryl. It's wonderful."

"Ain't happened yet," Daryl said.

"It doesn't matter," Carol said. "It's the best baby shower that I could ever have. It makes me very happy."

Daryl couldn't help but smile at her. She was quite sincere.

"You gonna like some of the stuff I got," Daryl said. "If Lori ain't already got her mitts on it."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Then you better go and make sure you get it first," Carol said. "But—Daryl—if she's out there, try to be nice, OK? And don't tell her 'fuck you' anymore?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Not if she don't give me reason to," he said. "But—Carol—I ain't apologizin' an' I'm holdin' firm on that one."

Carol sighed.

"Very well," she said. "Go—get your stuff."

"Gimme a kiss to take with me?" Daryl asked.

Carol put on the face like she was going to teasingly refuse him, but of course she didn't. She kissed him again and Daryl gave her a second kiss after she pulled away before he got up and let himself out the cell to go and collect, off the back of the truck, all the things that he was determined were his to do with what he pleased and nobody else's.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: This is something of a transition chapter, I guess.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"I reckon I know who sent you," Daryl said. He'd only glanced over his shoulder when he'd heard Rick walking up, and he didn't look back at him now. "It don't matter what'cha say, Rick. I ain't apologizin', I ain't givin' up nothin' I done moved into that cell nor nothin' that I'm still gettin' off this truck, and...if you fuck with me? I'ma tell you the same damned thing I told her."

Rather than get offended, Rick laughed. Daryl laughed to himself, as well, and moved the laundry basket full of items that he'd been packing in the truck onto the little cart that he was going to use to haul the items inside. Daryl and T-Dog had already moved a few large items inside and T-Dog had recently taken one wheelbarrow full of stuff inside. He'd probably return soon to ask if there was anything more that he could do to help Daryl.

Daryl had laid claim to two cells that were next to the one that he and Carol shared. The cell that they called home was some distance away from everyone else's cells. It allowed them a modicum of privacy. As luck would have it, it also meant that they didn't have neighbors. Daryl figured that the two adjoining cells could be turned into cells for Sophia and her sibling—whoever their child might end up being—so he'd laid claim to them now. It wasn't as if it mattered to anyone, after all, what they did with empty cells.

Daryl was steadily packing the cells with items from the truck—all chosen for Carol to make her pregnancy and their time with the baby easier to handle—so that the items could be stored until Carol's so-called baby shower. Daryl figured that, then, she could simply be free to do with the items what she wished. She would know best, after all, how she wanted to arrange a sleeping place for the baby. Sophia, too, could be moved closer to them if she wanted, though she was happy for the time being sharing a cell with Rick and Lori's baby girl.

"Do your children really need six of these stuffed animals?" Rick asked. He reached in the basket that Daryl had just loaded up and pulled out an elephant head with a blanket body attached to it. He turned it over in his hands and looked at it. Those had just so happened to be some of Daryl's favorite items from the run. He reached and plucked the elephant out of Rick's hand and returned it to the basket where it lay among its friends—all of them very similar in build.

"They all different," Daryl said.

"Six of them?" Rick asked.

"An' they's a half a dozen more on the truck," Daryl said. "So you can have what the hell you want, but these is like—they like that lamb that Sophia loves so much an' now she'll have a whole damned petting zoo if that's what she wants."

Rick held his hands up in mock surrender.

"I didn't realize you felt so strongly about the stuffed animals," Rick said, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Daryl checked his tone and facial expression.

"I'm sorry, but I want my family to have what the hell I want 'em to have. We cleared out a store that was for mamas-to-be an' babies. Got every damn thing that weren't nailed down an' pried up a couple things that was nailed down. Found this truck an' got it runnin' just to bring every last thing back. There's more'n enough in this truck for every damn body that's got a mind to have some. But—you know your wife was down here tryin' to get everything first. Drain it dry."

Daryl lit a cigarette, showing Rick that he intended to have a conversation with him for the moment rather than go back to work and ignore him. He gestured toward the truck.

"I really don't care, Rick, if she takes everything I leave. Let her take the best an' put the rest in storage for anybody that might need it. Hell—I'd hope that Glenn and Maggie might get them a young'un. I'd say they got a real good chance, especially after everybody's holed up for the winter. I'm not tellin' Lori that she can't have shit, I'm just sayin' that I went out there with T. This run was my idea. We was the ones that were up to our asses in Walkers. That was done 'cause this baby is cookin' an' I want Carol to have everything she needs—an' even what the hell she wants for a damned change."

Rick raised his eyebrows at Daryl.

"I know you think I came out here to say something to you about what you said," Rick responded, "but I didn't. Now—Lori told me what you said, but I figure that's between you and Lori. Believe me, I know how she can be. And there's nothing that we need so urgently for Judith that it can't wait for you to get what you need...or want."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah, I thank you for givin' me permission to have what was already mine," Daryl said.

"That wasn't what I meant," Rick assured him.

Daryl sighed.

"I know it weren't," he said. "Sorry. I just—I guess I was just pissed from earlier and it's coming out every which way I turn. I don't know who's going to say somethin' and who's gonna just leave me alone."

Rick laughed to himself.

"I actually came to apologize to you," Rick said. "I heard what Lori said to you. I heard her talking to Carol. She shouldn't have said that."

"Shit happens, though," Daryl said.

"And we don't need to be reminded of it at every turn," Rick offered. "I just wanted to—I don't even know. Say congratulations again? Say I'm sorry. I won't make excuses for her, but I guess Lori's got a lot on her plate."

"Don't we all?" Daryl responded. "Listen—the only beef I got with her is that she's first to take everything. She acts like she deserves it. She says she needs it. She whines about it the loudest so every damn person—from Hershel to Carol-hands it over to try to stop it. There's been so many damn times she's taken food offa Carol's plate that...Rick I was damn near fightin' Carol out there for her to take the food she needed off my plate to keep fuckin' going. It ain't been that long that I couldn't count what seemed like every rib an' bone in her body. And it was all so Lori could eat 'cause your kid was gonna be born."

"We've all made sacrifices," Rick said.

"Some more'n others," Daryl said. "I'm tired of makin' sacrifices. I'm tired of Carol makin' sacrifices. It's time she stopped makin' sacrifices. She oughta get the same treatment Lori did. Ain't that what we said? We take care of expecting mothers? I do my part. She does hers. We need meat, I hunt it. Built that smokehouse myself so we wouldn't go without this winter. We need—whatever the hell we need—an' I go out an' get it. Glenn, Maggie, T, and me. Carol takes care of every damn thing around here. She washes your drawers, puts food in your belly, an' makes sure that everybody's got what they need. And all of that's what she does before she starts whatever other job she's got. Hell—I'm bustin' my ass everyday on whatever the hell I can do here."

"If you want a break from your jobs," Rick said.

Daryl cut him off before he could finish.

"I'm not bitchin' about the jobs, Rick," Daryl said. "Carol don't mind it. I don't mind it. I'll do whatever I can to make sure that what we got here keeps on bein' the good thing it's turned out to be. The only thing I want is to feel like—like I'm gettin' mine. Like my family is gettin' what they need. Rubs me the wrong way when I got this stuff special because Carol's gonna have a baby an' the first thing that happens is the wolves descend upon it when I come through the gates. If I'da gone off lookin' for Glenn an' Maggie instead of stayin' here today, I'da prob'ly come back to the whole thing picked clean."

"I think you're overreacting," Rick said with a laugh. "But I understand your concern. To tell you the truth—it's been one of the reasons that Lori and I have had...difficulties."

Daryl rummaged in his pocket and found another cigarette. He lit it. He teased Carol that all the women did while they worked was peck and cluck like a bunch of hens. They talked about everything and everybody, but since their social pond was so small, that meant that they were talking about the same people over and over again. She told him that the men were just as bad.

She wasn't wrong. And Daryl didn't deny it.

Maybe it wasn't a man or woman thing. Maybe it was just a human thing.

He laughed to himself.

"Difficulties," he mused. This certainly wasn't the first he'd heard of it. The whole prison knew about their so-called difficulties. The group had been aware of them for quite some time. In fact, Daryl wasn't sure he'd ever known a time when Lori and Rick hadn't had difficulties.

"You know how it feels when...it's never enough," Rick said. "It's all my fault. Everything that's gone wrong. Every wrong decision. I've got the whole group looking at me. And if that wasn't bad enough...there's never enough. There's always something else we need. Something else I need to be doing. Or I'm doing wrong."

Daryl hummed.

"No, Rick," he said. "I don't know how that feels. At least—it's been a long damn time since somebody made me feel like everything bad in the whole damned world was my fault. Now I—I wake up just about every day feelin' like I'm doing something right. Like I musta done somethin' real damned right to just end up openin' my eyes the way I do and with all that I got." He shrugged his shoulders. "Not only is what I do enough, but it's damn near treated like it's too much. The best thing that ever happened."

Rick smiled to himself.

"Carol treats you like a king," Rick mused.

Daryl hummed.

"And I treat her like she was a queen," Daryl said. "At least—as good as I can. Maybe that's how it works."

Rick hummed.

"And if you get to the point where...you don't exactly feel that way about her anymore?" Rick asked.

"I never will," Daryl said quickly.

"But if you did," Rick said.

Daryl knew that Rick's question didn't have anything to do with his relationship with Carol. He was, in his own way, asking for relationship advice. He did that from time to time. It wasn't lost on Daryl, either, that Rick—who had been married for some time—was asking advice from Daryl who, before Carol, had never had a relationship.

Still, Rick seemed to believe that Daryl had some kind of relationship advice to offer.

"If I didn't love her no more," Daryl said, "then I don't think we'd be together. Simple as that. If it weren't workin', and we both knowed it weren't workin', we might as well just stop with it."

"The prison is small," Rick said. "There's not a lot of room to breathe here."

"But it's easier to breathe if you don't got a big ass weight on your shoulders," Daryl said. "I don't know what the hell you want from me. End your marriage or keep it going, but that's got to be between the two of you. You know what's going on. You know whether or not it can be fixed—or even if you want it fixed. You got to handle that yourself."

"We're all crammed in here so tight these days—I can't even imagine what everyone would say if we tried to create some kind of new order about divorces."

"Maybe that's your problem," Daryl said. "You've already spent too much time worryin' about what people's gonna say. At the end of the day, even your friends talk. We all do. You and me are talkin' right now about Lori. It's gonna happen anyway, so you might as well make yourself as happy as you can." He shrugged his shoulders. "Whole damn thing could end tomorrow anyway."

"Ever the optimist," Rick said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I got a healthy dose of hope for the future," Daryl assured him. "I got a kid and one on the way, and I'm hopin' they both see good long lives. Kinda thinkin' about how much I'd prob'ly like bein' a granddaddy. But I know better than to let my mind run too wild. A certain amount of being realistic never ruined anyone's life."

"Are you really going to throw Carol a baby shower?" Rick asked after a second, directing his attention to Daryl's spoils and ignoring the opportunity to talk about the fact that their lives could change dramatically at any moment.

Daryl smiled to himself and nodded.

"It ain't gonna be no big thing," he said. "I just—wanna give her something. I wanna celebrate with her. If you ain't seen it yet, I got her a ring, too. She said yes."

"Like she was ever going to say anything else," Rick responded.

"Hey—she mighta decided that marriage was too damn much an' run when she saw the ring," Daryl offered.

"Congratulations," Rick said, not even entertaining the possibility that Carol might have said "no" to Daryl's proposal. "I hadn't seen the ring."

"And I feel like a bit of a dick sayin' somethin' about it when you're tellin' me that it's anything but good with you," Daryl said.

"Not that you didn't know it already," Rick said. Daryl chose not respond to that. Rick hummed at him. "I don't begrudge you any happiness in the world, Daryl. And I'm happy for you. I'm happy for Carol, too. You two are good together."

"We're gonna ask Hershel to marry us," Daryl said. "Maybe—have a little ceremony or somethin' if anybody wants to be there."

Rick smiled and reached to squeeze Daryl's shoulder affectionately.

"I wouldn't miss it, and I'm sure nobody else would either," Rick said. "You need a hand taking this inside?"

"T was supposed to be helpin'," Daryl said. "After that last load, though, I got a feeling he's left me. This is the last that I'm takin', but the rest has to be moved to storage so Glenn an' Maggie can use the truck when they get ready to go back to the area they found."

"I'll help you get it cleared," Rick said.

"Won't Lori wanna go through it?" Daryl asked.

"She can go through storage," Rick offered. "Just like everybody else."


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Soph—I'ma need'ja to focus just a lil' bit," Daryl said. "You focusin'? 'Cause it don't look like you focusin' from where I'm sittin'."

Carol laughed to herself. She was reclined back against her pillow on the bed, and she was content to let Daryl and Sophia have their fun. She simply enjoyed being present to watch it.

Daryl wanted to tell Sophia about the baby. She'd already heard the word floating around the prison a good bit. She'd heard people congratulating Daryl and Carol. She'd even done her best to congratulate them herself, though she had not quite perfected the word. She didn't know what it meant, except that it was something good, and she didn't know why she was congratulating her parents, but she offered it over with enthusiasm and a toothy smile just the same.

Today had been a big day for Sophia, though. Among things that he'd brought for Carol and their future arrival—none of which Carol had seen yet— Daryl had brought things for Sophia. There was a decent amount of items that he'd brought for her—things which he would give Carol to put away for her—that wouldn't interest Sophia. She had minor interest in her clothing and other such necessary items. There were also some things that they would keep hidden away until later.

Today, however, she'd been given four things of which she was already quite fond. She'd been given a purple pair of shoes that she would have to grow into a little bit, a jacket that was almost the same color with multi-colored butterflies on it, and a matching beanie to keep her ears warm through the winter. Beyond the clothing to help her through the winter—all of which Sophia liked—she was also given a baby doll. T-Dog had found some accessories for the doll, so Sophia had also received those as a special gift from him—a few extra clothes for the doll, an extra diaper, a diaper bag, and a bottle among them.

The doll, at this moment, held all of Sophia's attention as she sat on the bed stripping it of its clothes so that she could dress it once more in its pajamas.

"You focusin', Soph?" Daryl asked again. Carol swallowed back her laughter. If she laughed, then everything would dissolve into a show because Sophia would want to entertain her.

"I'm focusin', Daddy," Sophia responded, almost reproducing Daryl's accent word for word. Daryl may not have been her biological father, but Sophia didn't really know any better. She'd picked up ways of speaking from him, she'd learned vocabulary from him, and she'd even learned enough of his gestures and expressions that Carol could sometimes be convinced that Sophia physically resembled the man that she wasn't related to at all.

In fact, Sophia was so much Daryl's daughter, that those they had encountered in the prison hadn't known she wasn't his biologically, and Carol was certain that, were they to encounter anyone else, any newcomers to their group wouldn't know that the two didn't share blood.

Sophia turned around on the bed to face Daryl—the task made a little more difficult because the bed shifted under her and she refused to relinquish her grasp on the half-naked doll—and then she crawled over to him and practically crawled into his lap.

"Did you see what I got, Daddy? Did you—see?" She asked, slightly overcome from her exertions.

Daryl laughed.

"Who give it to you?" He asked.

Sophia stared at him, accepted the answer, and grinned.

"Daddy," she offered, the grin not leaving her face.

Carol swallowed back her laughter, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. It was contagious, and Daryl caught it, too.

"Do you know what it is, Soph?" Daryl asked, pointing to the doll.

"It's a baby," Sophia said, drawing the word out in adoration of her new doll. She had a rag doll that she was rather fond of, and she had a plastic baby doll that she liked to play with in the tub, but this was the first actual baby doll that she'd been given. Her only other baby, really, was Rick and Lori's youngest child. Sophia liked "helping" with Judith whenever she was given the chance, and she considered the child to be something of a living toy that she was rarely allowed to touch as much as she might please.

Her daddy, however, had brought her a baby of her very own to dress, undress, and force feed as often as her heart desired. Her uncle T, in addition, had provided her with accessories, including a box she could pretend was a crib, a blanket, and a small bag she could use to carry everything.

Sophia was all set to take her baby anywhere within the prison, though Carol was pretty sure that the rubber infant's first excursion would be down to the animal pens just as soon as the sun came up and Sophia was allowed outside.

"It's a baby," Daryl echoed. "Like Jude's a baby. You know who else has got a baby? Soph—do you know who else has got a baby?"

"Help, Daddy," Sophia said, offering Daryl the doll that she was struggling to put back into her clothes. Daryl didn't miss a beat. He took the doll, put the little pajamas back on it that Sophia had almost stripped off, and offered it back to Sophia where she was sitting halfway on his lap.

"Soph—do you know who else has got a baby?" Daryl asked.

Sophia was paying him attention this time, at least for as long as she was able to pay anyone attention, and she hummed at him to say that she was thinking about his difficult question. Daryl waited patiently as long as she seemed to be thinking, and Carol bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing.

Sophia smiled, clearly having figured out the answer to her daddy's riddle. She pointed at him.

"You, Daddy!" Sophia declared.

"Me?" Daryl asked.

"I'm you baby!" Sophia garbled out.

Daryl laughed to himself and glanced at Carol. She nodded her head and Daryl gathered Sophia up into a hug. He kissed the side of her head and Carol smiled to herself because, even though Daryl didn't see it, Carol saw that Sophia closed her eyes for a second and smiled to herself. She enjoyed the affection and she enjoyed it without apology.

"You right," Daryl assured her. "You right. You my baby. You always gonna be. But—how would you feel if—if we was gonna have another baby, too?"

Carol felt her stomach clench. She wasn't sure, at all, how Sophia might react to this news. She could go either way. Her love for all living things—from bugs to human babies—might bring her to want and adore another baby. Being used to being an only child, though, and being quite happy with her life might make her reluctant to share. Carol held her breath. She'd promised to let Daryl handle this, and she was trusting that he'd know best how to do that.

Daryl rested Sophia on her feet on the bed, a little distance away from him. She held her doll, and Daryl held her so that she didn't go toppling down on the mattress.

"A baby?" Sophia asked.

Daryl nodded.

"A baby," Daryl said. "A lil' baby. Like Jude when she was borned. Do you remember that?"

"She doesn't, Daryl," Carol offered softly. "Probably not."

"A lil' baby," Daryl corrected quickly.

"I got a baby," Sophia informed him. She held up her doll like she doubted his ability to remember anything from one moment to the next. He nodded.

"I know you do," Daryl said. "What if we was all to have a baby together? Me, you, an' your Ma? A lil' brother or sister for you?"

Sophia didn't know what a little brother or sister was, and that was clear when she made a face at Daryl.

"A little brother or sister," Carol repeated. "Like Carl is Jude's big brother."

Now Sophia looked at Carol with a furrowed brow before she looked back toward Daryl.

"Would you like a lil' brother or sister?" Daryl asked. "Would'ja like it if—if we was to have a baby? In our family?"

Sophia took her time staring at Daryl, not committing in one way or another to the idea of a sibling. Then, finally, she nodded.

"I like a baby," Sophia offered.

"You like babies?" Daryl restated. Sophia nodded. Daryl smiled. "You'd like for us to have a baby? All of us—an' you gonna be a big sister?" Sophia considered it a second more and agreed with him. Whether or not she was truly enamored of such a role in her life, Daryl presented it in such a way that she didn't have any active complaints about it.

"Where is the baby?" Sophia asked.

Daryl glanced at Carol. Carol shrugged her shoulders. They'd had this discussion already. How much were they going to tell Sophia? How much was actually appropriate to tell a child so small? How much would she be able to understand without become far too overwhelmed with the reality of it all?

It was difficult to say, but they'd struck a few points that they thought were acceptable. Daryl nodded as though he understood that Carol was saying that he should go ahead and test out some of what they'd discussed.

He cleared his throat.

"Well—see—we thought you might say you was interested," Daryl said. "So—your Ma an' me? We kinda put the order in already with God. Up in Heaven. We asked if he had—a perfect lil' brother or sister that was sorta waitin' on a family like ours. An' he did. So he sent us one."

Sophia perked up. She held tight to her baby and looked at Carol with wide eyes.

"Where, Mama?" Sophia asked.

Carol bit the inside of her mouth. Sometimes Sophia would seek her out if she wasn't getting quite the information that she wanted from Daryl.

"I think your Daddy's gonna tell you, Sophia," Carol offered.

Sophia looked back at Daryl.

"Where is a baby, Daddy?" Sophia asked.

"It's gotta grow first," Daryl said. "It's real tiny right now. So tiny that'cha can't even see it. It's gonna have to grow 'fore it's ready to live here with all of us." Daryl said.

"Where?" Sophia repeated. Her mouth was partially open. She was intrigued by the whole idea, but she clearly wished her father would get on with telling her what she wanted to know about the whereabouts of her microscopic sibling.

Daryl got up, then, and scooped Sophia up. He moved closer to Carol and sat down again on the edge of the bed. He deposited Sophia between them and Carol caught her arm so that she could hold Sophia up. Sophia offered her the baby doll that she'd been given and Carol accepted it with the hand that wasn't holding onto Sophia.

"The baby's gonna grow in your Ma's tummy," Daryl said. "It's gonna be in there for a while. Gettin' bigger an' stronger so it can stay with us out here."

Sophia looked at Carol, wide-eyed and mouth open.

Carol smiled at her to reassure her. She nodded her head.

"It is," Carol assured her.

"In you tummy, Mama?" Sophia asked.

Carol realized this probably seemed entirely unreasonable to a child.

Carol nodded.

"Just like Jude grew in Lori's tummy," Carol said. She wondered how much her daughter could remember about that. It seemed that Sophia forgot most of what had happened in her life so far, but every now and again she was able to remember something quite random. When Lori had been pregnant, they'd never fully explained things to Sophia, but she'd somewhat understood that there was at least something in Lori's tummy—and it had become a baby. "The baby has a little bed in there," Carol offered. "Just for it to grow in. You grew there, too, in Mommy's tummy, when you were very, very tiny."

Sophia looked to Daryl for confirmation. Even though he hadn't been there for that stage of her life, this wasn't the moment to explain that to her. Instead, he simply nodded his agreement.

"You did," he assured her.

"How did it—how did you get the bed in you tummy?" Sophia asked.

"God put it in there," Daryl said.

Sophia accepted that with a nod. She knew a good bit about God. They all talked about him, but Papa Hershel taught her a particularly great deal about God. Sophia was able to accept that most things happened because God wanted them to be so.

"The baby?" Sophia asked.

"God put the baby there, too," Carol offered.

Sophia had done exactly what Carol expected her to do. Slowly her attention drifted to Carol's stomach. Carol held to Sophia's arm, but she gave her enough leeway to allow her to drop down to her knees and make her way to her mother's stomach. Sophia looked at Carol, hand outstretched, as though she wanted to ask permission. Carol nodded at her.

"You can touch," Carol said. "But you won't be able to feel anything. The baby is very, very tiny."

Still, Sophia touched Carol's stomach and smiled dramatically when she did so as though she'd actually experienced something worth mentioning.

"There's a baby!" Sophia declared, suddenly smacking Carol much harder than Carol expected. Carol jumped and caught Sophia's hand. She was quick to catch herself. She didn't want to scold Sophia too much for her enthusiasm—not at this moment. This was about acceptance. Etiquette would be taught later.

"We have to be gentle," Daryl barked, a little less-controlled than Carol. "You can't hit'cha Mama or the baby."

Sophia's face screwed up instantly at his scolding.

"I'm sorry, Daddy!" She declared. "I'm sorry, Mama!"

"It's OK," Carol assured her. She sat up enough to rub Sophia's back and, tugging on her arm, she pulled Sophia up to hug her against her. "It's OK. You didn't hurt anyone. Are you excited, Soph? About the baby?"

Sophia hummed in the positive and rubbed her face against Carol's neck. Suddenly she'd gone from awake to sleepy. Being in Carol's arms seemed to remind her of how tired she was.

"Milk," Sophia offered.

Carol thought about it, but tonight wasn't the night she was going to deny her daughter. She moved around to lift her shirt and settled Sophia so that she could nurse. Heavy eyelids told Carol that Sophia wouldn't nurse for long before she was ready to settle in between them to probably fall asleep in a matter of minutes. Then, without a doubt, Daryl would carry her to her bed.

"She took the news pretty good," Daryl said softly.

Carol hummed at him.

"We just have to remember," Carol said. "She's our baby, too."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I don't believe we're gonna forget that," he said. "I'm wonderin' if she's gonna take that news so good, though, when she sees the baby—ya know—gettin' her milk an' her Mama's attention."

Sophia's eyes were closed. She was still nursing, though, so she wasn't asleep. She was nearly there, though. She was likely listening to them, but nothing they were saying was bothering her in any way or catching her attention. All the words they were using were familiar and comfortable—Mama, milk, attention. For the moment, she had no reason to be concerned with how they were strung together.

"I don't know," Carol said. "I have a feeling that it isn't going to be me that really bothers her. I'm a lot more worried about how this little Daddy's girl is going to handle the first time Daddy holds the new baby."

"She don't mind me holdin' Judith," Daryl offered.

Carol hummed.

"Because Judith has her own Daddy," Carol said. Sophia was barely nursing now. Her eyes were beginning to dance behind her eyelids. She wouldn't keep up the game much longer, and she wouldn't make it to sleeping between them. Daryl would probably take her straight from Carol's arms to her bed. When Carol glanced at Daryl, she could see concern written all over his features. He was gnawing at his thumb. "Are you having second thoughts, Daryl?" Carol asked. "Because—it's a little late."

"I just don't wanna make her sad," Daryl said.

Carol laughed quietly to herself.

"Don't worry," she said. "You'll work it out. There's more than enough of you to go around. I'm sure of that."


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"There ain't no rush I guess," Daryl said. "I mean—I got everything that's goin' to Carol in them cells we're claiming. Maggie says she's more'n happy to help with it whenever we wanna do it. I just want Carol to have it long enough to—ya know—get it how she wants it. 'Fore we get the baby here, I mean."

They had only seen Glenn and Maggie out of the fences, about an hour before, in the truck that Daryl and T-Dog had brought back. Now that it had been emptied of everything that they'd gotten in their run, it was ready for Glenn and Maggie to fill it back up again. Daryl and Axel had seen to it that the truck was running smoothly, and they'd gassed it up so that they wouldn't have to be concerned with Glenn and Maggie getting stranded out there.

Daryl was pretty sure, though, that the young couple would find a way to stretch their run for a little longer than was absolutely necessary just to enjoy the time alone together.

Daryl and Carol had formally announced their engagement to the group. It had caused no big stir at all, since everyone had simply taken for granted their dedication to the relationship that they shared. They'd been congratulated, though, and a couple of people had promised that they would attend a wedding ceremony as soon as Daryl and Carol arranged for there to be one.

The discussion of the wedding ceremony had sent a nervous Glenn out to find Daryl while he'd tinkered on the truck with Axel and made sure that it was running as well as they could get it running. Glenn had a request. He and Maggie wanted to get married as well, and they really wanted their wedding to be special. For whatever reason, he felt that their wedding might not be as special to the group if it were to take place after Daryl and Carol's nuptials. Because Daryl and Carol were more established, and because they'd also have the baby to celebrate, Glenn was asking that Daryl simply put off the wedding until after Glenn and Maggie had tied the knot.

Daryl had spoken to Carol and she'd agreed that there wasn't any pressing need for them to have a ceremony. They were, honestly, as married as they could be. The ceremony would change nothing, really, except that it would give them that final bit of legitimacy that they lacked.

And then Daryl had gone to speak with Hershel since he'd only recently approached the old man about performing the wedding ceremony as soon as possible.

Daryl stood and spoke to him while Hershel lovingly tended to some of the crops that would soon be ready to harvest. They were small—and not much had made from planting them late—but they were something that would help sustain them through the winter. They were also the promise that there were bigger and better harvests to come with a little more preparation and careful planning. They'd made some mistakes this year that they wouldn't make in the future.

"Most people wait until the—well, until nearly the end of the pregnancy," Hershel said. "Baby showers usually take place in the last trimester."

"And which one of the trimesters is Carol doing right now?" Daryl asked.

"I would say that she's probably entering into her second," Hershel said. "She might be finishing her first. It's hard for me to tell, exactly. You've got plenty of time, son, for a baby shower. Though—were you able to find any maternity clothes for Carol?"

Daryl nodded and hummed.

"Cleaned out the place of what they had—clothes for babies an' mamas. I got what there was," Daryl said.

"You might want to go ahead and give those to Carol," Hershel said. "So she knows she has them whenever your little one starts to make itself visible to everyone. In my experience, I've learned it practically happens overnight and it's easier to avoid some of the negative emotions that surround it by making sure she's got something nice to wear."

"What negative emotions would she have?" Daryl asked.

Hershel laughed to himself. He struggled to get up and Daryl reached to help him. He offered him his cane. Even though they'd found a prosthetic leg for the old man, the loss of his real leg wasn't too distant a memory that Hershel could say he had learned to use the artificial limb as though it were truly an extension of his body. He got around well enough with the prosthetic, and he did better than he had with the crutches that he'd used while his stump had healed enough to support the prostatic limb, but he still wasn't back to what he'd been before he'd lost the leg. Daryl didn't know if, at his age, he ever would be.

He was a hell of an old man, though, and Daryl thought he did better than most of them would in his situation, especially given his age.

Hershel thanked Daryl for his assistance and hobbled along between the rows of his crops. Though they weren't perfect, they were his shining glory.

"Women can be very peculiar sometimes," Hershel said. "I thought you would have known that by now."

"Carol's not too peculiar," Daryl offered.

"Emotional," Hershel said.

"She gets emotional," Daryl agreed. "But there's always a reason for it. If I ask just right, she'll tell me—even if the reason is that she's got her period or something and she got sentimental thinking about some thing or another."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"Well those period emotions are about a hundred times stronger when it's a baby that's behind everything that's happening inside her," Hershel said. "And you may have to be patient. You may have to accept that sometimes she might not tell you what's got her upset because she might not know herself."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

"There's more times than not that Sophia's upset and I don't know what's got her stirred up," Daryl said. "It don't make her any less upset, and it don't make me any less set on figurin' out how to make her feel better."

Hershel laughed. He clapped Daryl on the shoulder and squeezed hard. He had a strong grip for a man his age.

Sometimes, though Daryl had never told him, Daryl imagined that having Hershel around was just like having the kind of old man that he'd wanted to have—that everyone ought to have. It was easy to pretend, sometimes, that he might see Hershel as his own old man, despite the fact that they shared no blood at all, just the same as Sophia saw him as her Daddy despite her biological ties to Ed.

Daryl had never mentioned such a thought to Hershel, though, for fear that the old man might not reciprocate his feelings. He'd rather silently live with what he could imagine than lose it completely were it to be shattered.

"That's probably the healthiest approach to women there is, son," Hershel said. "It wouldn't hurt if you were to spread that around to Glenn before he marries Maggie. Maybe even Rick would benefit from that approach."

"I don't hand out advice unless it's sought," Daryl said. "But I still hope that Carol wouldn't have any negative feelings towards our baby."

"I didn't mean that she would," Hershel said. "Only that—women sometimes get upset that their bodies are changing. It's important, as her husband, to let her know that you're fine with it. You're comfortable with the changes that have to take place for her to give life to your child."

"Of course I am," Daryl said. "She knows that."

"Even if she does, she might need to be reminded—often."

Daryl accepted Hershel's advice without argument. If Carol needed to be reminded that he liked her body, then he'd remind her of it. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd needed a little reassurance. Daryl understood, too. It was nice to have Carol validate his concerns, even if he'd asked her to validate them a few hundred times before. He liked, as well, when she remained patient and sweetly told him what he needed to hear. He tried to offer the same to her, and he certainly didn't see that changing because she was carrying their child. If anything, Daryl imagined he'd want to be even more reassuring and gentle with her than he normally was. After all, there wasn't a woman in the world who had ever been willing to bring his child into being—and there wasn't another woman that he would ever want to take on that role.

"You think the clothes'll remind her?" Daryl asked.

"They'll show your support," Hershel said. "Just remind her of how beautiful she is. Though I'm sure you already do that."

Daryl felt his cheeks run warm and he cleared his throat.

"I try to," he offered.

"She seems happy," Hershel said. "And Sophia is certainly happy. I'd say you're doing a fine job as a father and a husband."

"But I'm not a husband yet," Daryl said.

"You're a husband," Hershel said. "Whether or not we've performed a ceremony. Still, I do appreciate your need to make it official. I also appreciate your willingness to let Maggie and Glenn marry first. The wedding, itself, doesn't really matter to Carol. She would be happy without it. Perhaps she's seen a bit more in this life and she understands that the ceremony means nothing. Even the vows mean nothing if there's no sincerity behind the words. But Maggie is still young. She still wants the ceremony. She wants the—pomp and circumstance. She wants that feeling of being the most important woman in the room for at least a day. Glenn asked because she would never want to ask you and Carol to wait, but she feels that she wouldn't get that if their wedding followed closely on the heels of yours."

"Carol wants to help decorate for Maggie's wedding," Daryl said. "She says we're settled enough for that kinda luxury."

"We are," Hershel agreed.

"Is it wrong if I tell you that I want Carol to be the most important person in the room for at least a day?" Daryl asked. "Even if she don't want it—that's what I want for her. Are you sayin' that she don't get that now?"

"I think that Carol will always be the most important woman in the room to you," Hershel offered.

"But if I want more'n that?" Daryl asked.

"Then we'll do our best," Hershel assured him. "I'm sure that everyone could be persuaded to see things reasonably. Besides—you want her to have her baby shower as well. And Maggie and Beth will help to make that a special occasion for her. She'll be the most important woman that day for sure."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"I guess that'll do," he said. "If you're sure that you'll still do the wedding even though we gotta wait for a while."

Hershel laughed.

"I would still marry the two of you if you told me you wanted to wait a few years," Hershel said.

"But it ain't customary," Daryl said. "Not ideal."

"Nothing about this is ideal," Hershel said. "And typically I would say it's customary to marry someone before you have reason to be discussing their baby shower and maternity clothes, but things have changed. That kind of thing doesn't matter as much now. Maybe it never really mattered before—we only believed it did. Still, I couldn't imagine not marrying the two of you. I will consider it an honor."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"I was nervous about marryin' Carol before," Daryl admitted. "That's why I never asked before. Figured—things was good an' the marryin' might mess it up. Now that we're gonnna marry, though, I kinda want it to be official. Wish I hadn't waited so long."

Hershel smiled.

"People might mess up their marriages," Hershel said, "but the marriage is never at fault. It's simply a union between people. If entered into for the right reasons, it's a blessing. That's what you're feeling right now, Daryl—the assuredness that you're entering into it for the right reasons. It will be a blessing for both of you. And for your children."

"Speakin' of," Daryl said, "Carol's got clothes washin' to do today. I promised I'd relieve her a bit of Sophia so she an' Beth could make double time on it. I better go do that."

"I'll walk with you," Hershel told him. "Because I promised Sophia that I'd take her down to play with the rabbits—and I make it a point never to break a promise to Sophia."


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

One of the greatest continuous sources of meat that they had at the prison was their rabbit "farm". The rabbits reproduced at a staggering rate. They built a shelter for the furry little beasts so that they could withstand the cold of winter, and they'd built a run for them out of chicken wire that allowed them to enjoy the warmer days of their short lives outside.

Daryl was pretty sure that inbreeding wouldn't do anything to the quality of the meat that their rabbits produced, but he still liked to keep the gene pool at least somewhat varied. A run to a few pet stores, a few veterinarian offices, and a hardware store or two had offered up—along with a great deal of other supplies that they needed—everything that Daryl had needed to fashion some humane traps that would capture rabbits for them that they could introduce into the population of their farm. Daryl tagged the bunnies with roughly made "collars" from bits of string and yarn that they collected. The colors helped to indicate, roughly, the age and "family" of the rabbits.

Daryl would have never admitted it to anyone at the prison, but he considered the well-run rabbit farm to be one of his greatest contributions to the group. If he could help it, nobody would go without meat at any time of the year—even though they might tire of repeating the same meals over and over. Still, Carol was fairly creative with her cooking—as long as they kept her well-supplied—and it was sometimes difficult to remember that nearly every meal boasted rabbit as a protein.

With everything that had been going on the day before, and with Daryl set on helping Axel prepare the vehicle for Glenn and Maggie to go on their run, Daryl had sent Carl and T out to clear the traps. T-Dog refused to clear them because he didn't like to touch the rabbits, but he would at least guard Carl while he worked. And Carl, despite his enthusiasm, was good at removing the rabbits they caught from the traps, but not at resetting the traps when he was done.

There wasn't much going on at the prison today. As Daryl had predicted, Glenn and Maggie hadn't returned from their run. Nobody was too stirred up about it this time, though, because they—like Daryl—were pretty confident that the young couple had simply chosen to take advantage of the opportunity to have a little private time between them. Instead of being too concerned about things, everyone was busy going on about their day-to-day jobs.

Daryl's job, today, was to go around and reset the traps while checking to see if they'd caught anything else in the traps that had been empty the day before. The rabbit traps, after all, offered up plenty of rabbits, but they also offered up their fair share of possums, raccoons, and even cats.

Daryl had just finished resetting the metal door on one trap when he heard the sound of something crashing clumsily through the underbrush. He straightened up and turned his crossbow around from his back. He turned it toward the sound and waited for the Walker that was probably coming to explore the sound of the metal clicking into place. When he was out dealing with the traps, Daryl had to stay on guard against the Walker population of the area.

It wasn't a Walker that came crashing through the trees, though. At least, it wasn't a Walker that came first.

The woman was carrying a sword in her hand, lowered to the side. The leg of her pants was soaked in blood and there was wet blood elsewhere on her body. Daryl didn't know how heavy the sword she carried was, but it looked like it might have weighed two or three hundred pounds from the way she held it. She practically dragged it at her side as she toddled forward.

Daryl was certain that, even though she was coming straight for him, she didn't see him at first. She had clearly lost a good deal of blood. It was likely that she was exhausted as well. It was also probable that she was dehydrated and, maybe, even starving.

Seconds later, the five Walkers that were closely pursuing her made their way through the trees. She turned, without a word, and put all her strength into raising the sword that seemed to weigh a great deal. She swung it, slicing through the first Walker so that it fell to the ground still working its jaws, but the action was more than her body seemed able to take. It took her off her feet and, once she was down, it became clear that she lacked either the ability or the will to rise again.

Daryl quickly rushed over and, without saying anything to the woman, made quick work of putting down the remaining Walkers. As soon as the immediate threat was over, Daryl leaned down next to the woman. She was unconscious. He quickly checked her over. The blood that soaked her pants was coming from a wound in her thigh. It was very clearly a bullet wound. Daryl checked the rest of her quickly. It appeared that the other blood was likely from her hands having smeared it from touching her leg. She didn't appear to be bitten or scratched—even though she'd come very close to being torn apart. If Daryl hadn't been there, she would have been just another Walker.

Daryl couldn't simply leave the woman lying in the woods to bleed out or be eaten by Walkers. He had no idea what kind of person she was, and he wasn't sure that he wanted her around his family because of that, but he couldn't simply make the decision to condemn her to death based solely on the fact that he knew nothing about her. She might not survive her wound and the loss of blood, but Daryl had to at least give her the chance to survive if he wanted to live with himself. He reasoned that they could, easily enough, confine the woman until she was able to explain how it was that she came to be travelling alone and how she'd managed to get a bullet wound.

Daryl put his crossbow on his back, tied the burlap sack he'd brought to collect any rabbits he might find to the quiver he was wearing, slid the long sword—which was not nearly as heavy as it had looked in the woman's tired hands—into the sheath that she wore, and bent down to pick up the woman. She was entirely unconscious, so she was dead weight. Daryl hoisted her up and threw her over his shoulder, sure that he couldn't carry her all the way back to the prison in any other way. The only females that he was given to carrying with any frequency at all were Sophia and Carol—when she needed it. This woman was a great deal more solid than Carol, and Daryl took a moment to adjust to her weight before he started back toward the prison, silently praying that no Walkers would try to intercept the two of them on the trek.

Every muscle in Daryl's body was straining and crying out for mercy as the prison came into sight. They had worked to put in place some "wind breaks," as they called them, which slowed Walkers down as they neared the fences of the prison. These constructions kept the Walkers from all piling up at one place or another to press against the fences. Daryl made his way through the maze the best that he could. He tried to move as quickly as possible since he felt neither prepared nor able to fight the Walkers in his current condition. He worried that he, like the woman he'd tried to rescue, was nearing collapse. If he went down at this point, they would both be dead.

He welcomed the clanging sound that he heard through the noise of his own heart pumping wildly in his ears. He welcomed the screaming.

They had seen him and, without asking questions, they were running up and down the fences, banging poles and other metal utensils that they kept for just such jobs, against the metal fencing to draw the Walkers toward them. The Walkers would find their sounds more interesting than Daryl, and they would allow him to pass.

By the time that he made it to the fences, and Carl opened the gates to welcome him inside, Daryl could barely make it through the gates before he dropped down to his knees and spilled the seemingly lifeless body of the woman to the ground. She might be dead. It might have all been in vain. Daryl couldn't ask about her, though, and he couldn't give an explanation.

Luckily, nobody requested it.

It was Big Tiny—a veritable horse of a man who, despite some mistakes in his past life that had led to his incarceration, seemed to have the heart of a saint—who heaved up the woman and, without question, carried her quickly to the prison. It was Rick who first offered Daryl a shoulder to help find his feet again, and T who joined them to help make the walk to the prison.

And it was Carol who met them with water for Daryl and who washed his face and comforted him with cool fingers and a concerned expression before she allowed anyone to demand any explanation from him.

He kissed her fingers, too, as his breathing slowed down and he managed to find the ability to speak.

"She was in the woods. Collapsed. Got a bullet wound, but she never said nothin'. I couldn't just leave her there," Daryl stammered out as best he could.

"You did the best thing you could do," Carol assured him. She didn't look to anybody else to ask if they agreed. It didn't matter if they agreed or not. Daryl had done the only thing that he could do at the time. They would deal with the situation now.

"She didn't look bit," Daryl said. "I couldn't find no bites. Where's Soph?"

"Beth has her," Carol said. "She's fine. Beth has her. They're playing in Beth's cell."

Carol ushered Daryl inside and, slowly, most of the members of their group congregated there. The main common area of the prison that they used was big enough to accommodate all of them when they wanted to gather together, as was the space that they used for their dining area.

Hershel came from the direction of his cell, wiping his hands with an old towel.

"She's not bit," he said. "I'm going to have to do some surgery on that leg, though. The bullet's still in there."

"Do we have the resources for that?" Rick asked.

"I've got the supplies," Hershel said. "With any luck, it'll be minor—all things considered. She's unconscious for now, so I should take advantage of that. Still, she's going to be weak. I have no way of knowing her blood type, either. So we're just playing the odds for a while."

"If you're lookin' for permission to save her life," Daryl offered, "then consider it granted. I didn't drag her all this damned way just to leave her to die."

"We don't know anything about this woman," Rick said.

"Didn't know shit about nobody when we started this," Daryl said.

"It's a drain on resources," Rick said.

"So we go huntin' for more," Daryl said. "Ain't that what Glenn an' Maggie is doing right now? She was out there alone. Chances are she's got a whole fuckin' lot she can offer us. Survivin' out there by yourself ain't exactly the easy way to do things."

"And if she doesn't have anything to offer us?" Rick asked. "You don't know why she was shot."

"You right," Daryl said. "We don't know. You feel comfortable condemnin' her to death for that? For what we don't know?"

"What if she turns out to be dangerous?" Rick asked. "I don't want to take the chance of having her around my children. Do you want that? You want her around Carol? Around Sophia?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I weren't about to ask her to babysit," Daryl said. "I'm talkin' about savin' her damned life, not about playin' house with her. Cuff her. Lock her up. She'll talk eventually, but at least she'll be alive to tell us whatever she's got to say."

"Daryl's right," Hershel said. "I'm afraid that I can't, with a clean conscience, just allow this woman to die without attempting to save her. The wound is fresh and there's very little chance of infection if I act now. The longer I wait, though, the greater the chance is that I can't save her."

"Then you've got your answer," Carol offered. "I'm a universal donor if she needs blood..."

Hershel shook his head at her.

"I appreciate the offer, but for now you and your little one need your blood more than she does," Hershel said. "I'm sure that I can find some volunteers if it comes to that. If you're able, though, I could use some help."

Carol nodded her head.

"I'll wash my hands," Carol said.

"And tell someone to bring some hot water," Hershel said.

Daryl looked at Rick. He was clearly chewing over whether or not he liked the intrusion of the woman into the group, but they'd deal with that later. There was plenty of time for them to interrogate her and to decide if she stayed with them.

Daryl understood his hesitation. They'd met their share of bad people since the turn—including some that had very nearly lost them some of the people they held dear—but they'd also mostly been strangers at the turn. There were good people too.

There was time to figure out where this woman fell, but there wasn't time to waste when it came to saving her life—and Daryl wasn't going to be the kind of man who simply let people die without reason. He wasn't going to let his children see him behave like that. He wasn't going to let them know him to be that kind of man. That was the kind of man that Carol would never approve of—and Daryl couldn't disappoint her without a good reason to do so.

He was determined that, at the end of the day, his family would be able to say that he handled things firmly, perhaps, but never with undue cruelty.

If Hershel and Carol could save her—and Daryl had the upmost confidence in both of them—the woman would live.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Get away from me! Don't you touch me!" The woman snarled at him. The way she bared her teeth at him, Daryl might have believed she was a venomous snake instead of a human woman for just a moment.

The bullet was out, the wound was clean, and the stitches were well done. They had IV fluid there from their decently stocked medical supply storage, and she'd been offered blood by Big Tiny who also happened to be a universal donor. Luckily, she'd had no reaction to anything other than to make a pretty rapid recovery—all things considered.

It was getting on toward the late afternoon. Glenn and Maggie hadn't returned and, though nobody was saying it out loud, Daryl knew that everyone was starting to grow concerned. They were willing to grant the young couple a little quality time together, but the fact of the matter remained that it was inconsiderate to be gone too long in this world. When Hershel said that the woman was starting to come around—moaning slightly in her unconscious state—Daryl had offered to go in with Rick to question her about what she might know.

She might, after all, have a lot to tell them when it came to explaining how she'd come to carry a fresh gunshot wound.

She was handcuffed to the bed in the cell they'd put her in. Daryl and Rick locked themselves in with her. Carol hung around outside the cell with Sophia, and she was accompanied by Lori, Judith, Hershel, Beth, and Carl. Daryl had closed the cell door to lock them inside as more of a precaution for those outside than anything else. If the woman proved to be absolutely nuts, he didn't want her having any chance at getting anywhere near Carol and Sophia before he could stop her.

She was starting to prove to him that he'd been right to take that precaution as well.

She hadn't really woken up slowly—or rather she hadn't accepted she was awake slowly. Her eyes had popped open just as Daryl had come to try to shake her awake, and the first thing she'd said had been the words that she'd snarled at him.

"You better back the fuck up," Daryl warned, not that the woman could actually go anywhere. "Me touchin' you is most the damn reason you alive right now. Coulda left your ass unconscious in the damned dirt to get chewed up by Walkers."

"Walkers," the woman said.

Daryl didn't know if it was a statement or a question, but her brow furrowed.

"Walkers," Daryl said. "Dead things. Walkin' around."

"I know," was simply her reply.

"What were you doing out there?" Rick asked, approaching the woman who looked at her handcuffs and tugged at them to test that she was really cuffed to the bed. "Why were you alone, in the woods, and shot?"

"Who the hell are you?" The woman asked.

"We're asking the questions," Rick said.

"Daryl..." Carol called from outside the cell. Daryl felt some frustration at the interruption rise up in him, but he sighed and turned around. He walked over and leaned against the bars, his face nearly touching them. If she'd wanted to, Carol could have kissed him through the bars.

"Hi Daddy," Sophia offered.

"Hey, Soph," Daryl said. "What's wrong?"

"She's frightened, Daryl," Carol said, her voice low. "She's probably in pain and—someone shot her. She's frightened."

Daryl heard the hint of pleading in Carol's tone. He understood it. He nodded his head, reached his hand through the bars to touch Sophia's cheek, and smiled at her when she smiled at him. Then he turned around and returned to where the woman was still handcuffed to the bed and Rick was standing, hands on his hips like he was moments from entering some kind of cowboy shoot-out with the unarmed woman, to wait for the interrogation to continue.

Daryl swallowed and stooped down to be closer to the woman's face instead of towering over her.

"We don't want to hurt you," he offered.

She looked around him.

"You have children here," she said.

Daryl nodded his head.

"We do," he said.

"Where are we?" She asked, looking around.

"It doesn't matter until you tell us who you are," Rick said, "and what the hell you were doing in the woods with a bullet wound."

The woman looked at him. She scowled at him, really, and furrowed her brow. Daryl sighed and straightened up.

"I got zero damn interest in playin' good cop, bad cop," he said. "We're in a prison. We got a life here. Families. Children. We're buildin' somethin'. Somethin' real good. I found you this mornin' in the woods—just about bled out—an' we saved your life. Now you owe us. We got people out there, too, that's been gone a while. We're startin' to worry they mighta run into some trouble. Wonderin' if you might know somethin' about that. Who are you? How'd you end up where I found you?"

The woman's expression softened when she looked at him.

"Michonne," she said.

"You're Michonne?" Daryl asked. She nodded. "Daryl," he offered.

"I guessed," she said.

"Who shot you?" Rick asked.

Immediately the woman recoiled like she'd been slapped. She looked at Rick and Daryl was almost sure that he saw her raise her lip at Rick. Rick's tone made his hair bristle, as well, so he couldn't really blame her.

"I got it," Daryl said. "Why don't'cha go—take a lap or somethin'?"

"We have to know who she is," Rick said. "We've got to know if she knows about Glenn and Maggie. It's getting late. And—I want to know what kind of trouble she might be bringing to our back door."

"There's trouble all around you," Michonne said. "And I might've found it, but it would be coming for you anyway."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Daryl asked, quickly looking toward the woman.

"There's a place not too far from here. A town with walls around it. They've built something there. It's called Woodbury."

"Other people are allowed to build lives," Daryl said.

Michonne shook her head.

"It's not the town that you have to worry about," Michonne said. "It's the man that's running the town. He's crazy. He takes what he wants and he does whatever he has to do to get it. I can't prove it, but I know he's killed...I don't even know how many people he's killed. He keeps Walkers."

"Keeps Walkers?" Daryl asked.

"In pens," Michonne said. "He's crazy. Unstable."

"Is he the one who shot you?" Rick asked.

"His henchman shot me," Michonne said. "Or one of them. He tells you that you can leave the town, but if you do? He sends someone to kill you."

"Why?" Rick asked.

"Probably the same reason you didn't want to tell me where we were," Michonne said.

"So he just shot you for leavin'?" Daryl asked. "You didn't do nothin' but tell him that'cha was tired of bein' in his town?"

"That's essentially all I did," Michonne said. "I didn't fall in love with the fantasy that he created."

"You were alone?" Rick asked.

"His people found me and my friend out there—where we were living. She was sick. Dying. They tied us up, blindfolded us, and took us to Woodbury."

"She died?" Daryl asked.

"She—wanted to believe the place was safe," Michonne said. "I don't want to talk about it. She wanted to stay because she couldn't see what kind of person he was. She found other interests there. She wanted to stay. I wanted to go."

"Because you could," Daryl offered.

"I didn't even know how right I was about him...about everything...until he sent someone to try to kill me," Michonne said. "It's just a matter of time before he finds out you're here. That this—whatever you say you're building—is here. He'll come when he finds you."

"Maybe he'll just want to be neighbors," Hershel offered from outside the cell. "Work together for the benefit of all of us."

"He's not the type," Michonne said, calling out her words for anyone who was listening to hear. "He has to have complete control. Trust me. When he finds you—and he will find you—he'll kill you all just to take what you have."

"You said he found you an' your friend," Daryl said.

Michonne nodded.

"But he didn't kill you," Daryl said.

"We didn't have anything to offer," Michonne said.

"Then why even let'cha live?" Daryl asked.

"My friend—knew someone," Michonne said. "One of his henchmen. Merle. If she hadn't known him, then he probably would have killed us. Merle wanted to take her back, though, to see if she could be saved. He's probably the reason that we're alive." She laughed to herself. "He was also the one that the Governor sent to kill me. If you've got friends out there, and if Merle saw them? He might've killed them, too."

"Yeah, or taken them back to this...this place," Rick said.

"Woodbury," Michonne said.

Daryl's heart seized up in his chest. He felt a little lightheaded. He heard them like they were far away from him and he was outside of the cell and the prison and, possibly, the whole world. He had to ground himself and bring himself back to the present where, it seemed, nobody had heard what he'd heard and nobody was reacting to it quite the way he was. He reminded himself that there were countless numbers of people named Merle in the world and his brother had just been one of them. He certainly didn't have a monopoly on the name any more than Daryl had a monopoly on his name.

"Merle?" Daryl asked.

Michonne nodded.

"Merle who?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Michonne asked. "He was—one of the Governor's henchmen."

"Merle," Daryl said. "Merle...Merle who? He musta had a damned last name!"

Michonne looked surprised and Daryl checked his tone.

"We didn't formally introduce ourselves," Michonne said. "And he's a henchman for a man who only calls himself the Governor and kills for what he wants—or did you miss that part? He's a real upstanding person, though. Merle. He doesn't seem to mind being a murderer and he wears a bayonet in place of his right hand. You know him?"

Daryl's knees almost went out from under him. His head swam. Surely there were innumerable people named Merle that, one way or another, had lost their right hand—especially now in a world where amputating a body part was the only way to save someone from a bite that could be caught in time.

But his brain didn't believe him. Maybe it didn't want to. Daryl didn't know what to do.

And someone must have seen it. Someone must have heard what he heard. Because, somehow, the cell door got unlocked. Somehow those that were outside got inside. Daryl heard all their concerns echoing around him as he lowered himself down to the floor in an almost involuntary manner. He heard them all speaking. He could make out all their words, even if his brain couldn't decipher exactly which voice went with which inquiry. It didn't matter. It all jumbled together in a land that was, temporarily, very distant to Daryl.

"Where is Woodbury? Did you see Glenn and Maggie? She's a young woman. He's Korean. Did you come by the highway? Were there any accidents? Could you find Woodbury? Could you take us to Woodbury? Do you think this Governor would be willing to talk?"

Daryl heard it all—but it was all outside of him.

And it was all around him.

And everything inside him was in a state of chaos that he couldn't explain or understand and his heart was pounding in his chest and he couldn't breathe and his body was no longer capable of processing oxygen.

Until, suddenly, it started to slow down. And he felt the coolness of her hand on his face and her cheek against his cheek. He heard her voice, soft and sweet and meant only for him, as she called him back. She reminded him that she was there. She was always there. And, though she didn't say it, he felt her promise that she would help him sort the chaos inside him. She would help him find his calm again.

His lips found hers before his eyes ever did. He sighed, sucking in her breath. He smiled to himself at the next sound that grounded him, drawing him back from the feeling that his chest would explode and his lungs would never again fill with air.

"Daddy!" Sophia said.

And Daryl was immediately sorry for the concern that his eyes saw on her little face. He offered her the best smile he could and kissed her forehead.

"It's OK, baby," he said. "It's OK."

She cuddled his face in response and the weight of her was transferred to Daryl's lap.

"It's OK," Carol said softly. "I think Rick's going to Woodbury. I think—you should go. But, no matter what? It's OK, Daryl. It's all going to be OK."


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Happy New Year everyone!**

 **Also, please let me say that, just like all the characters, some new ones that we meet will have personalities that adapt them to this world in particular. I hope that you understand.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Michonne knew where Woodbury was and she easily remembered her way back. She knew, also a good way to enter the town without being immediately detected since going through the heavily guarded front gates wasn't going to be an option. Farther away from the gates, the guard was more of a roaming guard and they were able to watch the people and judge the proper time to enter the town.

Michonne also knew that there was a location where "new arrivals" were taken—the place where she and her friend had been taken—and there was a place that was somewhat removed from the rest of the town where the Walkers had been kept in pens. She didn't know what the buildings in that area were used for, but she had been stopped, by the Governor, from exploring that area, and she had a gut feeling that they might find something there if they were to make it that far.

She also had something, she said, that she needed to take care of while they were there, so she'd be leaving them to their own devices once they were inside the town.

To keep things simple, they'd parked their vehicle some distance away from the town. They'd chosen a meeting spot some distance from that, but about halfway between their vehicle and Woodbury, and they'd walked to Woodbury. They agreed that, if they got split up, they would meet back at the meeting spot. When the sun rose, if they hadn't all returned, they could decide what to do, but the plan offered them a way to ensure that nobody got tangled up while waiting on anybody else.

Michonne left them as soon as they were inside the gates and she'd given them directions to the places she'd mentioned. Daryl, Rick, and T-Dog made their way as quietly as they could through the community until they found the buildings that Michonne had suggested might hold some kind of secret about the town and the man who ran it. The pens that she'd mentioned were there, and they smelled like the rotted creatures that had been held there, but they were temporarily empty. A quick and careful examination of the area told them that Michonne had been on to something.

Glenn and Maggie were there. They were battered and bruised, but they were alive.

Unfortunately, the news that they had to share with them hadn't been something that Daryl had wanted to hear. It had been Merle and two other men that had found them while they'd been loading up supplies at the tiny strip mall they'd intended to clear out. Merle had recognized Glenn immediately, and he and his merry gang had brought Glenn and Maggie back to Woodbury for less-than-desirable questioning about their situation and where they were staying.

Rick was upset that Glenn admitted to giving up the fact that they were living in the prison.

Daryl was even more upset than Rick, though, because this meant that his brother was alive and, somehow, he'd gotten tangled up in what was clearly a very bad situation.

Before they could sneak back out of the town without being noticed at all, something broke out. Apparently someone detected their presence or Michonne's presence, because chaos erupted. Gunfire and screaming swallowed up the previously quiet night.

Daryl wanted to find his brother, but he'd known that it was best, at that moment, to simply get himself out of there before they all ended up in more trouble than they could handle.

The run for the fences had cost them most of the bullets that they'd brought with them just to try to deter those that were shooting at them in the name of "defending their home". They made it back over the fences, though, and they were able to slip away into the woods.

Eventually the people from Woodbury stopped following them.

Eventually they reached their meeting place.

And when they got there, they found that Michonne had beat them back with enough time that she wasn't out of breath.

"Where the fuck were you?" Daryl asked as they walked up. Michonne flicked on the flashlight that she'd been holding—one they'd left there with a bag of supplies for when they returned.

"I had to take care of something," Michonne said.

"Your friend?" Rick asked.

"She didn't come with me," Michonne said. "I didn't think she would. She has other interests in Woodbury. I didn't think she'd come. I didn't go back for her."

"What'd you go back for, then?" T-Dog asked. He sat down on the ground with another flashlight that he fished out of the bag of supplies. The people from Woodbury were done pursuing them for the time being. They'd come to the prison, but it wouldn't be tonight. It probably wouldn't even be tomorrow. For the moment, the only thing they had to actively worry about were the Walkers, and there were none nosing about at the moment.

"To kill him," Michonne said. "The Governor. To end this before it starts."

"You just go around killing people?" Rick asked.

"I try not to make it a habit," Michonne said. "But—some people need to be killed."

"Was that what stirred up the shootout at the O.K. Corral back there?" Daryl asked.

"He's so guilty that he practically sleeps with a full guard," Michonne said. "Some things went down. I got away."

"But you didn't kill him," T-Dog said, his words coming out somewhere between a question and an answer.

"Who is this?" Maggie asked.

It was the first time that either she or Glenn had broken their silence since they'd been found and quickly explained what had happened to them in the torture rooms.

"This—uh—this is Michonne," Daryl said. "She—well, I found her. An' your Daddy saved her life an' I guess—I guess she's one of us now."

Daryl swallowed. He felt odd saying that. He felt odd feeling like it was the truth in his gut even before his brain believed him. Still, he couldn't imagine how they'd exactly be rid of the woman at this point unless she just up and left. This wasn't the kind of world where he really felt comfortable throwing anyone out to try to survive on their own.

"I was in Woodbury," Michonne said. "The place you were being kept. I left and he tried to have me killed."

"The Governor," Maggie said.

Michonne hummed in the affirmative.

"Who is he?" Maggie asked.

"Just some psychopath on a power trip from what I'm hearin'," Daryl answered for Michonne. He plucked a cigarette from the pack that he carried in his pocket, found his lighter, and lit it. "You feel free to correct me if I'm wrong."

"Some psychopath who knows where we live," Rick said. "Knows where our families are."

"Look, man—I'm sorry," Glenn stammered out.

"Ain't nobody blamin' you," Daryl said.

"Nobody's blaming him because it was Merle that tortured him into giving up the prison," Rick said.

Daryl's stomach clenched and he felt a chill rush through his body.

"You don't know him," Daryl said.

"What is there to know?" Rick asked.

"I think we know him pretty well," T-Dog offered.

"You don't fuckin' know him!" Daryl barked out, much more loudly than he meant to.

"I know what he did to me," Glenn said. "I know what he was willing to do."

"And now they know about the prison and there's nothing to stop this Governor and—whoever and whatever he's got—to come trying to claim the prison," Rick said. "Now we don't know what's going to happen. We don't know what's ahead of us."

"Nothin' woulda stopped him from findin' the damned prison anyway," Daryl said. "It's a prison. Not a top secret bunker, Rick. All he's gotta do is go stumblin' around far enough an' he's gonna find it. Maybe he's a got a fuckin' map of the area, even, that it come marked on. It weren't Glenn that gave him no top secret information about where the prison is and it ain't Merle that's responsible for whatever this psychopath does. You don't know. You don't know why the hell he's there. You don't know why the hell he's doin' what he's doin'."

"Evidently because he likes it," Rick said. "It seems like he's been doing it for a while."

"He wouldn'ta had no reason to even be here if you hadn't handcuffed him to a fuckin' roof in Atlanta an' left him for dead!" Daryl barked. "So make sure you don't forget that while you busy pointin' fingers!"

"Well now if that ain't the damned gospel!"

It was pitch black at their meeting point except for the light supplied by the flashlights that Michonne and T-Dog had produced from their supply bag to keep them from being absolutely in the dark while they caught their breath and prepared for the trek back to their vehicle.

They all froze when the third flashlight beam mingled with theirs, but more than the light it was likely the voice that had made everyone freeze.

Merle laughed.

"You tell 'em lil' brother," Merle said. "But—hell—you don't all gotta stop arguin' on my account."

"What are you doin' out here, Merle?" Daryl asked.

Merle laughed.

"What? No hug from my baby brother?" Merle asked. "I was just passin' through. Lookin' for you, actually."

"You mean you followed us," Glenn said. "Why? To kill us?"

"Followed you?" Merle asked. "Hell, no. I wasn't following nobody. I can guess that you got out of Woodbury, and maybe somebody's been following you, but it wasn't me. You can see I came from over there. Wrong direction—or did'ja get lost?"

"So what the hell are you doing out here in the dark?" Rick asked. "If you weren't following us or headed for the prison."

"I don't like your tone, Officer Friendly," Merle offered. It was obvious that Rick didn't really care for Merle's tone either because he backed up a step when Merle spoke. "Yeah—I remember you. Come ridin' into town like you owned the whole damn city of Atlanta. The lil' Chinese boy here saved you an' in five minutes you was actin' like you owned every damn one of us, too."

"He's Korean," Daryl said.

"What?" Merle asked.

"Glenn's Korean," Daryl said.

"Does it fuckin' matter?" Merle asked.

"You beat the shit out of me!" Glenn barked suddenly.

"You tried to kill me!" Michonne offered.

"You still haven't told us what the hell you're doing out here if it's not coming to kill us or follow us to the prison," Rick said, ignoring the two of them.

Merle laughed to himself.

"I was just doin' my job on two counts," he said, waving his hand at both Glenn and Michonne. The flashlight beam danced around with his movement. "Doin' what the hell I gotta do."

"Some job you've found for yourself," T-Dog said.

"You do what the hell you gotta do," Merle said. "I thought you might know a thing or two about that."

"Why would I know about that?" T-Dog growled back, clearly defensive.

"Because we all do!" Daryl said. "We all fuckin' doin' what the hell we gotta do every damn day! An' this ain't gettin' us fuckin' nowhere!"

"I left Woodbury hours ago," Merle said. Tucking his flashlight under his arm, he reached in his pocket. Everyone watched his every move, but he didn't go for a weapon. From his pocket, he produced a cigarette and he waved it at Daryl, seeing Daryl finishing his, and Daryl offered him a light. His eyes trailed to the bayonet that Michonne had mentioned. In the light from the flashlights, Daryl could see that it was rudimentarily attached to some kind of metal cuff that fit over the end of Merle's arm. It was clear that Merle had had it long enough, now, that he was accustomed to it, even if he might have preferred to still have his right hand. "I was comin' to the prison—but not because of why you think I was fuckin' comin'. I was lookin' for Daryl. I been lookin' for him since Atlanta. I said I'd find the prison an' scope the place out. See if I could...see what the hell there was to see. Wanted to get Daryl—maybe tell you to get the hell outta Dodge if you knowed what was good for ya. An' prob'ly right quick like dependin' on how set up you are."

"And you were just hanging around out here when we showed up?" Michonne asked. "This late at night?"

Merle laughed to himself.

"Always got some shit to say, don't'cha Midnight? Mmmmhmmm figure you good an' pissed at me. Good an' pissed. You take it all a bit too personal. Hate me for a helluva lot. But I don't got shit against you that's personal."

"It's all in the line of duty," Michonne said.

"Somethin' like that," Merle said, puffing on his cigarette. "I had some other jobs to take care of out here. Price of my time off work—my so-called fuckin' vacation to find my own lil' lovin' baby brother— was wrappin' up a couple things on the geek ass lil' scientist's list 'fore I traipsed on over to the prison. You don't believe me—walk about a quarter mile in that direction. You'll see there's a fuckin' pit to gather up the Walkers he wants. I been stringin' traps half the damn day."

"What the hell do you want with Walkers?" Rick asked.

"I ain't the fuckin' scientist," Merle said. "I'm just the best damn one they got at buildin' traps."

"Listen—we can't stand out here all damned night," Daryl said. "And we need to figure out what the hell we're up against. So let's—let's just head back to the prison an' we'll figure out what to do about this asshole."

"I'm fine with that," Maggie said, "but not if he's coming back to the prison."

"I agree with Maggie," Glenn said. "He's dangerous."

"He's my fuckin' brother!" Daryl barked at them. "What'cha think he's gonna do? Nothin'!"

"Hey—hold up now. That's enough, lil' brother," Merle said. "I don't go where I'm not fuckin' welcome. No, no. I don't. Besides—I know how you treat people that'cha don't want around. I've seen. First-hand, you might even say." Merle laughed to himself. "Yeah—I did what the hell I did 'cause it's my job. What keeps a roof over my head. My belly full. You done what you done 'cuase you damn well wanted to. Well you can all go fuck yourselves. I wasn't comin' for none of you. I was only comin' for my baby brother—the only damn interest I got in your whole fuckin' group of assholes. Come on, lil' brother. I know a place we can pass the night. Stocked up fine. We'll head back to Woodbury in the morning."

Daryl tried to protest, but he couldn't get the words out. Merle didn't listen to anything that anyone else had to say either. Daryl ignored their words as he watched the flashlight beam dance while Merle walked away from them.

"Fuckin' hell!" He spat. "Fuckin' hell! Put me between me between a fuckin' rock an' the hardest damned place I know! He's my brother!" Daryl directed his comment right at Rick. "He wouldn'ta never met this Governor if you hadn't handcuffed him to a fuckin' roof. You owe him somethin' for that. Fuck you—all of ya! You all owe me somethin' for some shit I done for you. A thousand times over, prob'ly. I ain't asked you to do shit but let him come..."

Daryl glanced over his shoulder. Merle hadn't slowed down. He probably wasn't even listening to them. He was humming. Walking away. Disappearing deeper into the darkness.

"If he'll come back," Rick said with a sigh, "then we'll—we'll figure something out. I don't know what, but we'll figure something out."

"I don't know if he'll come now," Daryl said. "You don't know Merle. He don't believe in beggin'." Daryl shook his head at Rick. "He ain't gonna come right away, no way. I'ma talk to him. You go ahead. Back to the prison. Let 'em know we ain't dead an' start figurin' out what the hell we gonna do about this asshole that's comin'."

"What about Carol?" Rick asked.

"You tell her," Daryl said. "Tell her you all fuckin' run Merle away. Tell her—just tell her I'm goin' after him. I'ma talk to him. She'll understand. Be back to the prison as soon as I can."

Daryl didn't wait to hear Rick acknowledge that he would deliver the message. There were plenty of people there and all of them were capable of getting a message back to Carol. Daryl darted off after Merle, hoping to catch him before he got far enough away that Daryl was searching blindly for him in the darkness.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Here we are. Another chapter here.**

 **I just want to remind everyone that characters may (read will) be different than they are in the show. I may have enjoyed characters in the show, but all of them could have used a bit more depth in my opinion. Fanfic is my safe place to give them all the depth that I want. The thing about it, though, is that it often makes them something more than what we saw in limited screen time. I'm certainly taking liberties here. I hope that it doesn't bother anyone to the point of turning you off to the story, but if it does, I totally understand your need to read something that lines up better with the way you see things.**

 **I do, however, hope you enjoy the chapter. Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl hadn't realized how much of the night they'd spent with their trip to Woodbury. They'd left the prison after the cover of darkness had fallen on them, yet even as he reached the porch of the house that Merle was escorting him to, Daryl could see the very first hints that the dawn was beginning to break. In a few hours, it would be light. He pointed out as much to his brother as they reached the steps. They were the first words exchanged between the two of them.

"We'll sleep a couple hours," Merle said. "Eat somethin'. Governor ain't expectin' me back at Woodbury for a couple days. He'll be glad to have you, brother. He won't put you out. Not like some people."

"But he'll sure as shit kill you," Daryl said. He followed Merle into the house and watched as his brother walked over to an oil lamp and lit it. He slipped a glass cover over it. With the living room of the house illuminated, it was clear that the house wasn't one that had been chosen at random. It was clean of the heavy layers of dust that usually coated the houses that they found abandoned these days, and it appeared to be commonly frequented.

Merle laughed to himself. He apparently had the ability to read Daryl's mind.

"Home away from home," Merle said. "Use this place a lot when we're out scoutin' an' shit. Got a couple houses like this that's just about halfway between Woodbury an' wherever the hell you wanna be."

"But you ain't never found the prison?" Daryl asked.

"Found it," Merle said. "Hell—it weren't like the prison was some place we ain't never heard of, brother. Just that it's in the red zone."

"Red zone?" Daryl asked, walking around and surveying the living room.

"Walkers—Biters—as thick there as blowflies on shit," Merle said. "Scouts that went out that way said nobody couldn't live there an' it wouldn't be worth the effort to try to clear it."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Then that's some army or whatever your Governor has built himself, because we cleared the place with a handful of people and not nearly enough bullets to impress anyone," Daryl said.

Merle hummed at him.

"You do what the hell you gotta," he mused.

He walked over to the lamp that he'd lit, lifted the glass, placed it on the table, and lit a cigarette with the open flame before he replaced the glass. Daryl watched him out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he was interested in seeing how his brother got along without his right hand. Daryl assumed, though he'd never lost a limb, that it wasn't something that Merle would simply want to sit and chat about.

"How'd you end up with that asshole, Merle?" Daryl asked. "How the fuck did'ja end up somebody's henchman?"

Merle laughed to himself, but Daryl was sure it wasn't genuine. He watched as his brother found a seat in a recliner that he clearly considered "his" in some way. He pulled a small table over that held an ashtray.

Merle Dixon was sober. Stone cold sober. And Daryl hadn't seen his brother that way in a long time. Sober had always looked good on Merle—all things considered. And it gave Daryl some hope, because sober Merle was a man that could be reasoned with, at least, most of the time.

Daryl might not like the life that it appeared his brother had stumbled into living, but at least it had gotten him off the crystal or whatever the hell he'd been chasing before.

"After Officer Friendly an' the gang left me—in Atlanta—I had to get the fuck off the roof. I was dyin' up there. Weren't gonna be no kinda time 'fore them things got through. I weren't gonna die like that. Got the saw."

"I know," Daryl said. "You—uh—you don't gotta give the details unless you want."

Merle laughed again.

"Bleedin' out," Merle said. "Flesh-eatin' bastards everywhere. Damn near died. But he showed up outta nowhere—like some kinda damn savior. That's what he was to me at the time. Jerked my ass up outta the streets. There was days 'fore I could even figure out who he was. If it was even real. Come back into myself an' the doc had healed the damn stump up kinda nice. Sewed it up alright. Still ugly as shit to look at but...found me a supply place. Made this." He held up the prosthetic. "Not a bad trade," he said. "All things considerin'."

"So you decided to kill for this guy?" Daryl asked.

"What the hell would you have done, lil' brother? Huh? You been—stuck up Officer Friendly's ass a couple years, I guess. Think you'da done better. Think you better'n me? Got me a place to live—better'n I ever had before. Food to eat. My bed ain't cold these days—nah ah. Hell—I'm good at what I do an' I get recognized for that."

"Good at killin', Merle," Daryl said.

"That ain't all I do," Merle said. "I'm not defendin' the job, brother. It's a job. Same as any other. Gets me what the hell I need, don't it?"

"Come back to the prison with me, Merle," Daryl said.

"What the fuck for, Daryl?" Merle asked. "You heard what the hell they said. They ain't want me there. Don't nobody want me there. Too damn good for me an' it's just a matter of time 'fore they toss me out. Throw me to the wolves. Leave my ass high an' dry again."

"It ain't like that, Merle," Daryl said.

"That's exactly what it's like, brother," Merle said. "You a fool if you don't see it. Officer Friendly—he's just pickin' an' choosin' who to keep an' who to throw away."

Daryl's stomach clenched. Merle wasn't wrong. Not entirely. But he hadn't even been with the group since the rock quarry outside Atlanta. He hadn't even known Rick for more than a couple of hours at best. He had no idea what had taken place in the years since he'd been handcuffed to a roof.

Yet he still wasn't entirely wrong.

"It's been that way," Daryl said. "But—it ain't that way no more. Rick ain't in charge no more. Not like you thinkin'. We all got a say now. And we all say what the hell we gotta say. I got some importance now, brother. Got a voice."

"You think I'ma run back to him? He handcuffed me to a roof, Daryl! Left me for dead!"

"And we come back for you!" Daryl barked at him. "All you had to do was wait, Merle! We come back for you! I come back for you! But you weren't there! You were fuckin' gone! Run off...like always."

Daryl surprised himself when he heard the words rush out of his mouth. He was surprised, too, at the amount of feeling behind them. He'd known the feeling was there, of course, but he'd thought that he'd managed to swallow it all down a little deeper. It seemed, though, that it was right near the surface and more than ready to bubble out at a moment's notice.

"Fuck you," was Merle's short response. "I left because I was gonna fuckin' die!"

"We'da got back 'fore you died!" Daryl said. "You weren't gonna die!"

"I didn't fuckin' know that!" Merle said.

"You shoulda trusted me to come," Daryl said.

"I weren't just talkin' about the damned roof, Daryl," Merle said. "An' neither was you."

Daryl found a chair and sat down, tired of staying on his feet. He lit a cigarette and, finding himself without an ashtray, reached for a dirty glass that was nearby on the floor—evidence that someone who didn't care to keep their space clean had been there before.

"You always left, Merle," Daryl said. "It's what the hell you done. An' you know—I ain't hardly ever been able to say shit about it because, if I did? You fuckin' left then, too."

"I've always come back," Merle said.

"Sometimes it ain't the comin' back I wanted," Daryl said. "It was the fuckin' stayin'. Shit—never said that shit out loud. It was the—it was the knowin' you was gonna fuckin' stay, Merle." He hummed to himself. "Hell—even when you stayed you didn't stay. Stayed outta your fuckin' head with whatever you could scratch off some dealer."

"I seem to remember you puttin' away more'n your fair fuckin' share of rot gut," Merle said.

"I didn't mind the drinkin'," Daryl said. "The weed either. It was the other shit. The shit that made you—made you not fuckin' Merle. Not my damn big brother. The shit that got your ass handcuffed to a fuckin' roof."

Merle laughed to himself, but there wasn't a single bit of humor behind the hollow sound.

"Ain't touched the shit in—a while," Merle mused.

"The Governor do that for you, too?" Daryl asked.

The hollow laughter rang out again.

"No," Merle said. "There's—there's things that matter more'n the Governor. Sometimes—you see shit clearly that'cha ain't seen before, Daryl."

Daryl swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"I wanted you back, Merle," Daryl said. "I've wanted you back for—a long damn time. Since the first time I caught you takin' that shit."

"Here I fuckin' sit," Merle said. The laughter rumbled in his throat. "Pretty as a mother fuckin' picture an' smellin' fresh as a damn daisy. You happy to have me back now, lil' brother?"

Daryl nodded his head.

"Just wonderin' when you gonna leave again," Daryl said. "That's what the hell you do."

"You always was holdin' shit against me," Merle said. "Ever since you was a snot-nosed kid an' couldn't see that I was steady tryin' to take care a' both our asses."

"You weren't hardly around," Daryl said.

"I weren't hardly gone," Merle said. "But you only remembered the times I was gone. Especially once—once she was gone."

"You weren't there—dealin' with the ole man."

"I left 'cause he'da put me in a damned hole," Merle said. "Or got me locked up for life—maybe in that fine establishment you callin' home right now. I couldn't stand dealin' with him no more. Weren't gonna let him keep on. Left to save my fuckin' life...it's the only reason I leave—to save my fuckin' life."

"Sounds real damn big of ya," Daryl said. "When you put it like that."

"You don't know what the hell he could be like to me," Merle growled.

"Who the hell you think he was beatin' on when you weren't there, Merle? An' after she died? You think he just stopped 'cause she was dead an' you was gone? It's who the hell he was."

Merle swallowed like he had briars in his throat.

"Shit—Daryl, if I'da knowed..." he started.

"You had to know," Daryl said. "But just like if you'da knowed about the damned roof—you shoulda just not runned off."

Merle simply nodded his head.

"There's plenty of room for us both in Woodbury," Merle said.

"I got me a life at the prison, Merle," Daryl said. "I ain't goin' to this Woodbury place an' I ain't gonna be the goon of this asshole."

"I can't go there, Daryl," Merle said.

"We'll make it work," Daryl said. "They said we would. We'll figure it out. You can be important there, too, Merle. For the right damned reasons."

"Your life at the prison's more important than the life I got me...that it? Ole Merle's supposed to just drop shit an' go where his baby brother wants. Ain't that what it's always been—no matter how the hell you wanna paint it? Merle makes sure his baby brother gets what the hell he wants an' you just piss on me if there's somethin' that ain't quite like you like it?"

Daryl frowned at him.

"That ain't all true," Daryl said.

"But it ain't all untrue, Daryl," Merle said. "An' you fuckin' know it. They gonna—put my ass in chains? Ask me to kiss their asses?"

"We'll make it work, Merle," Daryl said. "You can make somethin' of yourself there where you don't gotta be ashamed of who you are an' what'cha do."

"Fuck you," Merle said. "I ain't ashamed of shit."

"You can say it," Daryl offered. "But I see it ain't true." Daryl shook his head at Merle. "I ain't goin' with you to Woodbury. And that's all there is to it. I don't wanna lose you, Merle. Not again. Not after I spent years wonderin' if you was alive or dead. Not—not now that'cha ain't outta your damned skull on shit. But—I got a life you wouldn't believe. A life I don't hardly believe. I got a wife, Merle. Or—we gonna marry soon, but we good as married. Got me a kid. Another one on the way ain't big as a damn minute yet. I got a fuckin' life. I'm somebody an' I got me a family—a real family. I ain't goin' to Woodbury. Not even for you."

Merle swallowed. He laughed to himself. This time it wasn't the same hollow sound as before.

"A wife?" He mused.

Daryl swallowed and nodded. Merle had spent months at the quarry with Carol and Ed there, and he knew her. He knew Sophia, too, as Ed's infant daughter. Daryl could tell him all that—but there was time for that. For now the details didn't matter.

"Kids, too," Daryl said. "A daughter. Don't know what the baby'll be."

"Fuck—fuck—my lil' brother's got a wife an' kids," Merle mused. "I go off a couple damn years an' you go an' turn into Ward fuckin' Cleaver."

Daryl laughed to himself. Merle looked pleased, and he found that promising.

"Yeah—I'm a Daddy. A damn OK one, too, if I do say so myself. Makes you an uncle, Merle," Daryl offered. "If you got a mind to be one. You just gotta—come back to the prison. They gonna leave you be. Just gotta come back an' learn how the hell to live with people. Accept 'em for who they are. Know—you ain't always gonna like 'em but, hell, they prob'ly gotta accept shit about you that they don't like neither."

"An uncle," Merle mused.

Daryl's heart did a strange dance. He felt confident, for the first time, that Merle was coming back with him. He relaxed into his seat.

"An uncle," he said. "You just gotta come with me, Merle."

Merle sat quietly and thought on it. At least, that's what Daryl assumed he was doing. He got up once to light another cigarette with the lamp as he'd done before, but otherwise he didn't say anything. Out of nowhere, though, he finally broke the silence by standing straight up.

"I still gotta go back to Woodbury," Merle said.

Daryl stood up, too.

"Are you fuckin' serious?" He spat, almost instantly overcome with anger. "Did you hear anything I said, Merle? All that an' you just gonna run the fuck away again? I meant what I said—I ain't goin' with you."

"Simmer your ass down, Daryl," Merle said. "I'll do what the hell you want—same as I always fuckin' do. But I gotta go back to Woodbury. You ain't the only one what's got a damn life. She ain't my wife, but I got somebody too. Welcome or not—if I'm goin' to the prison, she is. I gotta go back to Woodbury, Daryl. I gotta get her ass. 'Cause if I don't go soon? The fuckin' Governor's gonna figure out that I run off sooner or later—that I ain't comin' back. An' just to fuck with me an' just 'cause he likes her—an' he can't stand to go without what he wants—he's liable to take from her what she ain't gonna wanna give an' he's liable to kill her. I can't let that shit happen. So—I gotta go back. I gotta sneak her outta there."

"What about him?" Daryl asked.

"We'll figure out what to do about him," Merle said. "But—first I gotta know she's outta there. Gotta know she's safe."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

He could understand that and, for once, he found it was a sentiment from his brother that he truly respected.

"I'll go with you," Daryl assured him. "Help you however I can. Get her back to the prison. You, too. But then—you gotta help us figure out how we get rid of this asshole or else we're all losin' shit we wanna keep. And—I can't let that happen."

Merle simply nodded at him. He didn't offer any words, but Daryl heard what he had to say loud and clear. Merle got up, blew out the lamp that he'd lit earlier and, forgetting the nap and the food that he'd come there to get, he started out the door. Daryl closed the door behind them, confident that his brother knew the way back to Woodbury.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"I'd feel better if you were to eat this," Hershel said, putting the bowl in front of Carol. "I doctored it myself. It's not the best oatmeal that you've probably ever had, but it's not bad. I know you don't like it sweet—so I just kept it savory and flavored it with a little salt and pepper and some of that roasted rabbit."

Carol offered the old man the best smile that she could. He sat down across from her at the picnic table and she reached across it and patted him on the arm.

"I appreciate the gesture, Hershel," Carol said. "But—I'm not on a hunger strike. My stomach's just feeling really unsettled. I think I'll stick with just the warm milk for now."

"I'm not trying to push," Hershel said. "I just want you to remember that your little one needs to eat and he—or she—is relying on you to make sure that happens."

Carol smiled and nodded.

"I promise," she said, patting his arm again, "that I'm not on a hunger strike. This is my second mug of milk. But just the thought of trying to eat that oatmeal is making me more than a little queasy."

She crinkled her nose at the bowl and Hershel moved it away from her, keeping the smell of it away from her face for the time being. The milk was nice. It was soothing. She'd stashed away a little honey and she'd treated herself to a little of it dissolved in each mug of milk that she'd had. She could drink the milk and, for the time being, that was simply going to be good enough. Neither she nor the baby would benefit, anyway, from her simply being ill and practically renting her food for the limited amount of time that she'd keep it in her stomach.

From where she was sitting in the prison yard, at one of the picnic tables, Carol could see the gates. She could see the driveway that led up to the gates. She could also see Sophia—some few feet away—as she played in the dirt with a dump truck and a shovel. With careful dedication, Sophia loaded the dirt into the dump truck at one location and "drove" the truck over to another designated area where she dumped her load of dirt before beginning the process over again. Carol had only had to tell her twice to stop eating the dirt.

Carol also hadn't missed that her daughter was attempting to keep—in one of the holes created by her handiwork—a small earthworm collection. Carol decided she would deal with that later. For now, Sophia was quite busy and distracted, and that was what Carol wanted most.

"I never knew Daryl's brother," Hershel mused. "But I know Daryl. I believe he's coming back."

They'd returned from their trip to Woodbury just as the sun was coming up. Carol never slept well if Daryl wasn't with her. On top of that, the baby she was carrying was not a fan of letting her sleep, and Sophia wasn't much of a late riser either, so Carol had been outside preparing to start a fire for breakfast when they'd arrived. Axel had taken night watch, and he'd been outside when Carol had emerged from the prison with Sophia, so he'd gone down to let them in at the gates.

They'd found Glenn and Maggie. The two of them came telling a story about how they'd been abducted from the little strip mall where they'd been loading a vehicle. Merle and some other men had snatched them up and taken them and their supplies to Woodbury. Maggie had, apparently, been questioned—and she'd been humiliated by the man who called himself the Governor—while Glenn had been questioned and tortured by Merle himself.

They had found Merle, but it seemed that Merle had walked away from them—and Daryl had gone after him. Glenn said that Daryl told them he'd return to the prison as soon as he could, but nobody had any definitive answer about when that might be.

And the Governor might be coming, at some point, to try and lay some sort of claim over their home.

Carol wasn't going to pretend that she wasn't anxious. The thought of anyone trying to come and take their home was disturbing to everyone. The thought of a possible fight was nerve wracking. It was difficult to simply carry the knowledge of what Glenn and Maggie had suffered. Even coming to terms with what Michonne—a woman that was still a mystery to all of them—had experienced was horrifying.

Seeing them return, without Daryl, had taken Carol to her knees.

But her initial reaction was born from misunderstanding. His absence immediately made her fear that something had taken his life. She'd feared that he was lost to her forever. She'd reacted the only way she knew how to react when she was seized with the coldest and blackest fear that she could imagine.

Rick had been the first, once they were safely inside the gates, to tell her that Daryl wasn't dead. Glenn—despite his evident injuries—had been the second to comfort her and to offer her the information that he'd gone off chasing his brother, but he'd said that he intended to return.

Daryl wasn't dead, and fear had released some of the strong hold that it had on Carol's heart.

Still, Hershel worried about her and, she imagined, some of the others might as well.

"I know he's coming back," Carol said. "Daryl and I made a promise—a long time ago. After we left the farm. We made a promise. We'll never leave one another. We always come back if we can."

"You say that like you're not worried," Hershel said. "Maybe you really have skipped breakfast because you aren't feeling well."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I'm really not feeling well," she assured him. "I mean—I feel fine. I'm just..."

"Nauseous," he supplied. Carol nodded and hummed in the affirmative. Hershel gestured toward the abandoned bowl of food. "Do you mind if I?" He asked, letting it trail off. Carol shook her head. "Better than letting it go to waste. So—you're not feeling anxious. There's nothing you wanted to talk about?"

"I don't know that there's anything to talk about," Carol said, "but I also wouldn't say that I'm not feeling anxious. I'm not afraid that Daryl won't' come back—not at all. But that doesn't mean that I'm not terrified of what might happen with this Governor."

"I think we're all at least a little concerned about that," Hershel said. "It would be difficult to go on the road again. But if we have to, I suppose we'll make do just as we did before. We'll find something else. I didn't think I'd survive if I lost my farm, but here I am."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Showing us all up," she teased. Hershel smiled to himself and continued to eat his oatmeal.

"Daryl loves you," Hershel said. "You and Sophia—you're his whole world. He doesn't know this baby yet. Not really. But when he does, I have no doubt that he'll feel the same way about it. He would probably face down this Governor, and everyone he has working for him, alone, just to keep you from even feeling anxious."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You may be right," she said with a sigh. "I never imagined—that I'd know what it was to feel like that. Like someone cared that much. That's why I'm not worried. Not about Daryl. I know that Daryl will be back."

"What do you know about Merle?" Hershel asked.

"I know that Merle is Daryl's brother," Carol said. "And—if he comes here with Daryl, then we'll just have to start with that."

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl stayed in the woods just where his brother told him to wait. If anyone were to look for him, even if they were on top of the wall in Woodbury, they'd never see him. The underbrush was thick enough that he probably could have hidden there with half a dozen people without being noticed.

They had travelled a little further than Daryl had wanted to travel, but it was so that they could make it around to the farthest reach of the walls of Woodbury. Apparently, and according to Merle, there was seldom any need for anyone to be back there unless they were patrolling or moving things around in storage. Since he was often allowed his pick of inventory, he'd spent enough time back there to know where stuff was and what the basic schedules were of those who guarded the area. He also knew how to get from there to his apartment without being noticed.

Daryl waited in the underbrush until he started to get antsy. There was no way to know how long Merle had been gone, and there was no way to communicate with him to find out if everything was going according to plan. Daryl wasn't sure how long he should allow his brother to return with the woman that he'd gone to seek and, if he decided that too much time had passed, what course of action he should take.

Merle had been so confident that he'd return that he hadn't even wanted to discuss an alternate plan of action. Now Daryl wasn't sure if he should try to help his brother or if it was too dangerous and he should return to the prison to try to find someone who could help him.

Daryl was just beginning to sweat the whole situation when he saw the first stirrings of movement that he'd seen since he'd settled into his spot.

Hands came over the wall, grasping the side. Then, slowly, a head appeared. The woman was blonde. She heaved herself up over the wall, remained only half a second with a leg over it, and then dropped down to the ground. From where she landed, she couldn't see Daryl and he could only somewhat see her.

But what he saw made his blood nearly freeze in his veins. He sincerely felt as though he'd seen an actual ghost. He stayed where he was, not trusting his eyes and not trusting anyone that came out of Woodbury, until his brother threw down a bag and then came over the wall and dropped down beside the blonde.

As soon as Merle had his feet, he rushed the blonde toward the heavily covered area where Daryl was waiting.

Daryl stood up as they reached him. Staring straight at her, he still didn't believe what he saw. He was still frozen for a moment.

"I thought you were dead," Daryl said. It wasn't the most appropriate greeting, he knew, but it was all that his brain offered him at the moment.

"Well," Merle mused. "Don't that just seem to be a common misconception about ever-damn-body that Officer Friendly an' the gang unloads? I know y'all lookin' forward to this lil' family reunion, but we gotta get a move on. Don't wanna get seen—or heard."

Daryl didn't argue with his brother's reasoning, and Andrea clearly wasn't going to argue either. Daryl didn't know how much she knew, or what Merle had told her, but she seemed content to go along with his plan to get out of there and to do it quickly. They walked through the woods, as quickly as they could, in the direction that Merle indicated. None of them said a word, for fear that their voices might carry and alert someone of their presence, until Merle finally stopped them somewhere to catch their breath.

"Shouldn't be too far from here to the prison," Merle said. "Half a mile. Maybe a mile."

When it was safe to speak, Daryl turned and stared at the blonde. He reached for her, and she met him for a hug without discussing that it was his intention to hug her.

"We thought you died," Daryl said when he pulled away. "Lori said you went down. Carol said she seen you, too."

"I did," Andrea said. "But—I got up. You were all leaving. I tried to catch up but—everyone left."

Daryl's stomach twisted. They'd had to leave in a hurry. They'd never expected to be suddenly overrun, but the massive herd had seemed to just materialize out of nowhere. There had been no hope of fighting against it. The sheer number of Walkers was staggering and they'd plowed through everything in their path and destroyed anything they could. They'd lost some people from their group that night, and they'd always believed that Andrea had been among those that they'd lost.

Now Daryl knew that they'd lost her, but it had been a different kind of loss.

"If we'da known," Daryl stammered out.

"Yeah—you mighta," Merle offered, not letting Daryl finish his sentence and seeming not to need to hear the end of it, "but there's a good chance you'da been goin' alone."

"I don't understand," Daryl said. "How'd you...?"

"Michonne," Andrea said. "I ran into her. We were together a long time out there."

"Scooped 'em up outta the woods when Andrea here was half-dead," Merle said. "I got her healed up an' she—she uh—got me cleaned up."

Daryl laughed to himself as it all sunk in for him.

"You two?" He asked. "How the hell does that even happen?"

"Familiarity," Andrea offered. "Comfort?"

Merle narrowed his eyes at him.

"You think she's too damn good for me?" Merle asked.

Daryl laughed.

"Yeah, I do," Daryl said. "But—I mean—hell—I just weren't expectin' this shit. I mean—fuck...congratulations? To both of you, I guess. I mean—hell, I don't know what I mean." 

"It doesn't matter," Andrea said. "Congratulations or—whatever. It doesn't matter. The group—how are they? How's Carol? Sophia? Are they—OK?"

"Doin' good," Daryl assured her. "Doin' real good." He glanced at Merle, but nothing flickered across his brother's features. It was pretty clear to Daryl that, though he knew who Merle's lady friend was, Merle didn't have a clue about Daryl's. It seemed that Andrea hadn't told him. Daryl would tell him, of course, because there was time for that surprise when they were safely back at the prison and it would be easier to tell him there than to randomly share that information in the woods. "Hell—if y'all ready, let's head on back. I can guaran-damn-tee you that everybody's gonna be surprised to see you. Happy as shit an'—real damn surprised."

Daryl laughed to himself. He marveled, as he watched Andrea and Merle walk side by side, over the fact that it didn't appear to be any kind of joke or trick. They were legitimately together, even if he wasn't sure exactly what the nature of their relationship was.

Everyone at the prison had been surprised to find out Merle was alive. They were going to be surprised, too, to find out Andrea was alive. They would be even more surprised to find out that they were together.

And Merle still didn't know exactly how it was that Daryl's little family had first taken shape.

Today, Daryl was pretty sure, was going to be a day full of surprises for everyone.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Making their way to the prison was slow and rather arduous. The woods were relatively thick with Walkers and, though the three of them worked their way through the creatures with relative ease, it took them more than a little time to make their way all the way back to the prison. By the time they got there, they were all filthy, much of the day had been lost, the sun was starting to hang heavy in the sky, and Daryl was certain that people had begun to at least whisper about whether or not he intended to return.

Daryl had never been happier to see the prison as he was when it finally came into view for them. The sight of it, too, seemed to give Andrea and Merle some renewed vigor because they both sped up and put a little more enthusiasm behind taking down the few Walkers that turned to come after them instead of remaining stupidly pressed against the "windbreaks" that they were too dumb to avoid.

Big Tiny was the one responsible for manning the gates at the moment. Since he knew neither Merle nor Andrea, he wasn't too impressed with the arrival of either. He did, however, seem quite pleased to see Daryl and he offered him a wide smile and some teasing as he passed inside.

"Go off leaving Carol like that," Big Tiny teased, "and you were about to come home to find yourself a single man."

Daryl glanced at Merle to find that his brother was eyeing him. He didn't say anything, but he was definitely looking at him out the corner of his eye.

He didn't have time to really say anything, though, because as soon as the gates were closed behind them and they were even a few foot inside the gates, there was a wave of people coming toward them. The reception was a little overwhelming and, admittedly, varied. Rather than try to introduce Merle and Andrea to anyone who didn't know them, and rather than try to direct any of the interactions that were taking place, Daryl did his best to try to escape the crowd.

He couldn't breathe when he was caught up in a crowd of so many people, and he could hardly hear himself think when everyone spoke all at once and with such enthusiasm.

Besides that, those he was most anxious to see already understood that he'd want to be away from the initial rush of people—and that there would be time for questions and greetings—so they met him several feet away.

Sophia reached Daryl first, freed from her mother's arms, and she ran at him.

"Daddy! Daddy! Hold me!" She barked, practically leaping toward Daryl. He was filthy, but he honestly wasn't sure if she was any less dirty than he was except for the absence of Walker mess.

"You been takin' care of your Ma?" Daryl asked, hugging his daughter's body tight against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled away from him and offered him a toothy grin.

"Yes!" She declared.

"That true?" Daryl asked, turning then to greet Carol who was watching him with Sophia, a smile on her lips, from a few steps away.

"She's been very good at taking care of me," Carol said. She opened her arms to Daryl and he stepped toward her.

"I'm filthy," he warned.

She smiled at him and closed the distance before she sunk into his arms, wrapping him and Sophia both up in a hug.

"And I love you anyway," she assured him, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.

Their moment together was short-lived because it was impossible to ignore what was happening around them. A welcome kiss out of the way also meant that it became impossible for Carol to ignore the resurrection of a woman that she'd considered a friend. She took Sophia from Daryl, presumably to show her off, and Sophia went willingly. Carrying the girl, Carol made her way through the crowd to wrap her arms around Andrea, loudly declaring the same thing as everyone else—they had all believed her to be dead.

Daryl wasn't expecting it when his brother clapped him on the shoulder with a heavy hand. It appeared that the majority of the group was as interested in speaking to Andrea as they were in avoiding Merle, so he had the ability to roam freely as it pleased him. With his hand on Daryl's shoulder, Merle steered Daryl away from the group. When they were some distance away—far enough that they wouldn't be overheard, since they were very unlikely to be bothered—Merle stopped walking. For a moment he pretended to be admiring the layout of the prison yard. Then he turned and looked at Daryl.

Daryl searched his brother's face for some kind of evidence as to what he might think about Carol and their relationship, but nothing was really showing in Merle's expression.

Merle simply stared at him a moment, then he drew in a breath, let it out, and raised his eyebrows at Daryl.

"The mouse?" Merle asked.

Merle had called Carol that back at the rock quarry. He declared she was such a small thing—petite and delicate—that she reminded him of a mouse. That resemblance was only made greater by the fact that she tiptoed around her husband, at the time, to try to avoid his wrath.

Daryl simply nodded his head. Merle mirrored the action.

"You kill her husband?" Merle asked.

Daryl laughed to himself. He was equally parts surprised and not surprised that Merle would ask such a question.

"Didn't have to," he said. "Walkers done it for me."

Merle nodded his head again.

"You let him get cold first?" Merle asked, this time finally laughing.

"And then some," Daryl assured him.

"You damn near couldn't stand it when he was alive," Merle said. "I seen it back then. You watchin' her scurryin' all around the damned camp. I knew then you was wantin' a piece of that."

Daryl didn't know whether to laugh or be offended, honestly, and he felt neither emotion sincerely. He wasn't truly bothered, though, and the hint of humor on his brother's face did a great deal for helping to untwist his gut.

"Fuck you," Daryl said. "That weren't how it was at all. You ain't seen no such thing 'cause I think I'da knowed what I wanted an' didn't want."

"You didn't know what you wanted," Merle said. "But I did. 'Cause I know you, baby brother. Always have. Better'n you know yourself, sometimes."

"Andrea?" Daryl asked.

Merle smiled to himself.

Daryl swallowed. He couldn't recall having ever seen Merle smile like that. It wasn't the shit-eating grin of having "gotten" somebody or having just laid into ribbing someone. It was a genuine smile. There was no liquor behind it. There was no meth behind it. There was no chemical or substance behind it whatsoever—at least not as far as Daryl was aware. It seemed that the only thing behind that smile was a certain blonde that seemed highly unlikely as a match for Merle Dixon.

"She fuckin' hated you at the rock quarry," Daryl said. "An' you give her shit all the damned time about bein' a goody two shoes an' everything else."

Merle laughed to himself.

"Maybe I knowed I wanted a piece a' that back then, too," Merle offered. "Everybody's got their own damned way of goin' about dealin' with that kinda want. Besides—know now that she weren't interested in an asshole that was too damned outta his skull to know who he was half the damn time."

Daryl swallowed. He didn't tell Merle that he appreciated Andrea's distaste for his drug addiction and that, more than anything, he appreciated the fact that she had something grand enough to hold over Merle's head that he would actually go about getting control of something that had been out of control for far too long.

He didn't say any of it, but he hoped that nothing happened to ever break down whatever it was that was keeping Merle clean because Daryl had missed his brother—and this was a version of his brother that he probably hadn't seen in the better part of a decade.

Just for keeping him that way, Daryl would make sure that the blonde got whatever the hell she wanted or needed to keep her happy. He'd make it a personal mission, like she was his own blood, if that's what it took.

"She showed up to Woodbury," Merle said. "Half dead. Fuckin' Michonne kept vigil over her until she come back into herself. She told me everything she knew up until y'all left her ass at some farm. I even followed her instructions. Set out the day she was strong enough to trace it out on a map for me. Found that farm for the record. What the hell was left, anyway. Tried to track you but—it was fuckin' impossible. Come back an' told Andrea about it. I guess—we felt like we had a lotta shit in common. She lost her baby sister. I lost my baby brother. Maybe—we both had a lotta shit we felt—guilty about. Lotta shit we wished we'da done different."

Merle broke off for a moment and cleared his throat. Daryl busied himself with finding a cigarette, lighting it, and offering another to Merle, so that he wouldn't have to admit that his own throat was tight. It wasn't much, but it was about all that Daryl figured he could expect in the way of an apology from Merle. And, coming from a clearly sober Merle, it meant a great deal more than any drunken apology that had ever been slung in his direction before.

When Merle had puffed on his cigarette for a moment, he seemed ready to continue.

"I think for a lil' bit we was just clingin' to all the hell we had left of a past that we'd damn near forgot," Merle said. "Pissed Michonne off. Andrea said that they weren't—that there weren't nothin' between 'em, but it pissed off Michonne somethin' bad. She caught us fuckin' one day. Come in my damned apartment without knockin' an' got pissed at me for bein' there an' for fuckin' Andrea. Saw me as the enemy from the first day. Never realized I was the one that kept the Governor from havin' her nosy ass dispatched that first damned night when she got to just bein' damn hostile an' accusatory with everybody. Once she caught us fuckin', it kicked every bit a' fuckin' paranoia or whatever the hell she had into damn high gear. She got wrapped up in some personal vendetta against me an' the Governor an' the whole town of Woodbury. She was determined to make sure Andrea left with her. She went lookin' for shit. And the thing about lookin' for shit is—you bound to step in it eventually."

"That man's fucked up, though—you kinda admitted it yourself," Daryl said.

"Ain't we all?" Merle asked. "It's pick your damn poison, really. Truth is—if you stay on the good side of things, Woodbury ain't that bad. There's shit behind the scenes, but not everybody's back there. I knew what was goin' on, but I also knowed how the hell to stay safe. How the hell to really work the system there. I knowed it was safer to stay in than it was to try to get out, so I held Andrea back. Didn't let her in on what all I knowed, of course, but it didn't seem to matter to her. She stayed with me...'cause she wanted to live, probably. Remembered what it was like to damn near die outside. She begged Michonne not to go. Wanted her to stay. Michonne basically told her to go fuck herself. Said she turned her back on her. Said she was stupid for ever gettin' tangled up with the likes of me. Said she deserved ever' damn thing she got." Merle hummed. "Maybe she was right."

"Don't look to me like she's doin' too damn bad," Daryl said. "Besides—she don't seem too shook up. Maybe she just—made her choice, Merle."

"An' now we put the two cats under the same roof to hiss an' scratch at each other?" Merle asked.

"They'll make up," Daryl said. "There ain't a lotta space around here. Usually means you gotta hiss an' spit about your shit for a bit, talk it out, an' then get the fuck over it. There's hardly enough room for us an' all the shit we stockpile. There ain't room for grudges, too."

Merle nodded, but he didn't respond verbally. He took a few steps, seemed to admire the few goats that they'd managed to round up, and then turned back to look at Daryl.

"That—uh—that daughter you was tellin' me about," Merle said.

"Sophia," Daryl said, smiling to himself.

"She was the baby? Back at the—at the camp?" Merle asked.

Daryl nodded.

"Ain't she growed?" Daryl asked.

Merle laughed to himself.

"I'm surprised as shit she's still alive," Merle said.

"She's alive. She's a tough kid. Takes after her Ma. There's another kid around here, too. Rick's wife had another kid. Had her here inside the fences. There's a lotta damn people you gotta meet, Merle. An' you ain't gonna love all of 'em an' they ain't gonna all love you right away, but—like I said. They ain't room here for grudges."

Merle hummed to acknowledge that he'd heard Daryl.

"Lotta damn kids around here," Merle said. "You said—you said that'cha got another one?"

"Carol's pregnant," Daryl said. "She's—well, Hershel, he's our doctor, says that she's like goin' into her second trimester thing. So that's good. It's good an' it means the baby's doin' real good. Growin' an' all an' Carol's doin' good. Glenn and Maggie wanna get married an' then me an' Carol—we're gonna have a ceremony. Get married."

"Well, hell, brother," Merle said. "Congratulations. This whole damn place is just crawlin' with...with families an' kids an'...fuckin'...goats..."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"If you ain't an asshole about it," Daryl said, "then you never know, Merle. Might just be you sometime gettin' the whole family an' kids shit. Hell—a goat, too, if you got your heart set on it."

Daryl saw the color drain quickly from his brother's face. He was under absolutely no impression that it was the goat that had caused such a reaction from Merle Dixon.

"It ain't that way, Daryl," Merle said.

"'Cause you don't want it to be or 'cause you think she don't?" Daryl asked. Merle stared at him, but he didn't answer him. Daryl thought he could hear his brother's answer loud and clear, though. "She weren't tryin' to hide it or talk her way out of it in the woods, Merle. Looked pretty comfortable...if you ask me. Not that anybody asked me."

Merle glanced back over his shoulder and Daryl followed the glance. The group that had originally bunched up around the gates was beginning to dissipate. People were heading back toward the prison. Some spoke to each other as they walked. Daryl caught a quick glance of Sophia as she darted up the yard as fast as she could—presumably with some sort of mission in mind—and then he found Carol walking with Andrea a short distance behind everyone else.

Carol caught his eye. She offered him a smile. Then she redirected her attention to Andrea.

"Merle—I don't wanna lose what I got here," Daryl said. "Not a single damned bit of it. I wanna see my kids grow. Raise 'em up. Build this place up like we been dreamin' of doin'. You know that asshole better'n any of us. So—you tell me—what do we do? 'Cause—from where I'm standin'? It looks like you stand to lose a lot too, Merle. Maybe more'n you even know."

Merle nodded his head.

"It ain't the people of Woodbury you gotta worry about," Merle said. "They content to keep on like they goin'. Maybe—they need a lil' help gettin' somethin' goin' to have—to have what'cha got here as far as what'cha produce yourself. But—they got some shit that maybe you don't have. Could help build this place up, too. This place an' Woodbury—they don't gotta be enemies. There's good people there."

"What about the Governor?" Daryl asked.

Merle laughed to himself.

"Oh—he's gotta die, lil' brother."

"How?" Daryl asked.

"I got some ideas," Merle said. "If you think—that mouse of yours might can scratch us up somethin' to eat."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'm sure it can be arranged," Daryl offered. "Come on—want'cha to meet my kid."


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"She's beautiful," Andrea cooed. "And I can't believe how big she's gotten!"

Carol smiled to herself and watched her daughter playing a short distance away with a metal cup and a small collection of pebbles that she'd gathered out of the gravel driveway.

"I swear she grows more every day," Carol said. "She grows like a weed, and I think she's hit something of a growth spurt lately. I feel like I can see a bit more change every night when I put her to bed."

Andrea's smile was genuine as she watched Sophia playing.

The sight of Andrea—alive and well and very much like something out of a memory—brought a smile to Carol's face as well. She'd been sure that the woman was dead, and that had made her truly sorry. They'd lost people along the way but, for whatever reason, it was Andrea's memory that felt like it tugged at Carol's heart the most.

Maybe it was simply because Carol believed the woman to be genuinely kind and good, and people like that were so rare that it hurt to know the world was deprived of even one more of them.

And it was never easy to lose a friend.

"And you married Daryl?" Andrea asked, glancing at Carol and catching her looking at her. Carol smiled to herself again. There was nothing accusatory in the question. In fact, the question had no other sound than that of girlfriends catching up after a long separation from one another.

"Officially, I guess, we're not married yet," Carol said. "Glenn and Maggie want to get married. They want the whole ceremony thing. They're afraid that if there are too many weddings, then it might take the novelty of it all away. They've asked us to wait and, really, we're in no hurry. I mean—we're not married, but we're obviously committed."

"And a baby?" Andrea asked, the corners of her mouth seeming to pull upward even as she clearly tried to swallow down the smile.

Carol smiled in response.

"If Hershel is right," Carol said, "and I'm guessing he is because I thought the same thing, then we're twelve or thirteen weeks into things. It wasn't exactly planned, but..."

"But it's not exactly like anyone's planning anymore," Andrea offered. "Did I say congratulations?"

"Thank you," Carol said.

"And—Daryl's OK with all of this?" Andrea asked.

"All of this?" Carol asked.

"The marriage," Andrea said. "Sophia. The baby. It doesn't overwhelm him?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"Sometimes it's Daryl that keeps me from being overwhelmed. He's thrilled with it all. In fact—I appreciate your congratulations, but it's really Daryl that I'd like you to congratulate. He's been feeling a little...a little like nobody is happy for us, perhaps. He'd love to hear congratulations from you."

Andrea nodded her head.

"I guess brothers can be entirely different," Andrea said.

"What do you mean?" Carol asked. She followed Sophia with her eyes as her daughter ran off, but it didn't take long to see exactly where she was headed. Her Daddy was waiting for her, arms open, as she rushed toward him. Merle was standing somewhat off to Daryl's side, clearly offering some space in case Sophia was anxious about coming too close to someone unknown to her.

Andrea was watching them, too.

"Whenever anyone at Woodbury mentioned marriage or...or children...Merle would get almost angry about it," Andrea said. "It was as though getting married or having a child was such an inconvenience that he was even bothered by the fact that someone else was doing it."

Carol hummed in response to Andrea's words.

"I've seen Daryl act that way," Carol said. "At least to some degree. In some situations."

"This is every situation," Andrea said. "Merle Dixon is not a fan of family."

Carol hummed again, but she didn't press the issue. She would talk to Daryl to find out what he thought about his brother's beliefs about family, but she wasn't sure that Andrea was reading Merle just right. She could believe that brothers could be different, of course, but she also knew that Daryl sometimes reacted to things in a surprising way until she got to the bottom of his reactions.

Daryl had a way of acting angry whenever something scared him. He also had a way of acting angry as a response to disappointment or the thought that something might never be the way that he wanted it to be.

Merle Dixon may not be at all like his brother—or they may be even more alike than they realized.

"I have to admit," Carol said, "the idea of you and Merle—it comes as a surprise to me."

Andrea smiled to herself. Carol was almost certain that she saw her cheeks run a little pink in the quickly failing light of the very late afternoon. Even if she felt Merle had his reservations about a family, it was clear that there was something about him that Andrea must appreciate.

"I never would have believed it, either," Andrea said. "And—I never would have believed that I'd hear myself defending Merle Dixon when I first met him." She stopped speaking and hesitated a moment as though she was searching for just the right words. "But—Merle's...he's really...there's something charming about him. When he's not out of his mind on something? There's really something charming about him." She cleared her throat and watched Merle standing with Daryl. It appeared that Daryl was making introductions between Merle and Sophia. Sophia didn't seem at all uncomfortable with her new uncle, but Merle was clearly standing at least a little rigidly as he spoke to the small child. "He's been clean. At least since we got to Woodbury. I told him was me or the drugs. I couldn't stand them and I wouldn't tolerate them. A drink or a joint to relax is one thing but..."

"You don't have to explain it to me," Carol said. "And I'm not here to judge you, Andrea. I wouldn't. If you're happy, then I'm happy for you. For both of you, because I'm sure you're good for Merle. You've already gotten him to stop whatever he was doing back at the rock quarry."

Andrea swallowed like it was painful and nodded her head. Carol caught her as she glanced around. Her eyes darted here and there like she was searching out the members of their little family around the prison yard. Carol could practically see the tension in her shoulders. She feared that they would hold Merle against her. It was clear.

But Carol respected that, even standing there with the fear of their rejection and harassment, Andrea wasn't trying to run from her relationship.

"Anyone who would judge you," Carol offered softly, "probably needs to deal with something in their own lives and they're procrastinating by putting their focus on you."

Andrea nodded her head.

"I believe—that he's a good man," Andrea offered.

"And I believe you," Carol said. "So that's all that matters. Come on. I know you're all hungry. Let's warm something up to eat."

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Can you say Uncle Merle, Soph?" Daryl asked.

Sophia was running her tongue back and forth across the backs of her teeth as she smiled open-mouthed at Merle.

She was mildly fascinated by the idea that her Daddy had a brother. She had immediately told Merle that she was going to have a brother and, when he'd asked her about whether or not it might be a sister, she'd agreed that she was going to have that, too.

Clearly they'd have some things to sort out with the little girl, but there was no need in worrying too much about it at the moment. They could only handle on thing at a time and Daryl would rather she simply hold onto her slight show of excitement at becoming a big sister than deal with the disappointment of realizing that she'd already misunderstood how all of it was going to work.

"Uncle," Sophia offered.

"Merle," Daryl prompted, moving his arm enough to jiggle his daughter. She giggled.

"Merle," she offered. His name came out sounding strangely like "mull," but Daryl was pretty sure they weren't going to get much better. At least not for a while.

"You got a hug for your Uncle Merle?" Daryl asked.

Sophia had hugs for everyone. Daryl knew that there were some children who were simply shy and awkward around people. He'd seen them plenty in his life as they'd hidden behind their Mamas in grocery stores and acted terrified of the world around them. Sophia was not at all that kind of child. She was friendly and loving and not afraid of much.

Merle, however, seemed strangely unsure about the whole thing. He had leaned close to Sophia and he'd somewhat spoken to her when Daryl had introduced the two of them, but at the suggestion that she hug him, Merle had backed up a few steps.

"I'm nasty," Merle offered, waving off the possible hug. "Walker shit'n—maybe later."

Sophia had already started to lean toward Merle, arms outstretched, but seeing him back away she straightened herself and Daryl quickly pulled her back to hold her securely against him.

"She don't care nothin' about that, Merle," Daryl said. "She's nasty, too. Loves dirt'n everything like that. You gonna see. Soph here is Dixon all the way through. She don't let somethin' like dirt bother her."

Sophia looked at Daryl and frowned, her eyebrows knitting together.

"Daddy..." she offered, dragging it out. She didn't say anything else, but Daryl heard everything she was trying to say just by looking at her expression. She was concerned about Merle. She was concerned that he had rejected her hug and, perhaps, had rejected her.

And she needed to be distracted quickly because Daryl never could handle it well if she got torn up about something—especially if her feelings were legitimately hurt.

"It's OK, Soph," he offered. "You eat yet?"

She shook her head. Daryl didn't know if it was true or not. Many times, Carol would hold some supper for Daryl if he was out late. Sophia would eat with everyone else, and then she'd turn around and insist that she hadn't eaten when Daryl got back just so that she could have two suppers.

Daryl wasn't going to question it at all tonight.

He pulled her to him and kissed the side of her face. She looked somewhat soothed by the kiss.

"Go on up there. Where your Ma's gettin' the fire goin'. Tell her you hungry. We comin' up soon to eat."

Daryl put Sophia down and his daughter accepted his instructions to acquire more food. She trotted across the prison yard, her brand new Uncle Merle's rejection forgotten, and Daryl watched her go until he was confident that Carol had seen her and that T-Dog—who happened to be headed in the same direction—was going to help her out at any rate.

Then Daryl turned back to his brother.

"The hell was that?" Daryl asked. "You 'bout upset my fuckin' kid!"

Daryl stopped and checked his anger. He didn't want it to bubble too out of control. He was upset that Merle had rejected Sophia's affections, but he wasn't as upset as his body was telling him he was. There were a lot of other things that he was busy processing at the moment and it seemed that he was very close to simply getting mad as a way to release the feelings that he was holding back to deal with later.

He didn't want to get mad. Not right now. Not when there were important things to take care of, and not when he was running the risk of, honestly, being disproportionately angry.

"She wanted to hug you," he said, softening his tone.

Merle frowned at him.

"You know I ain't good with kids," Merle said.

"Hell—I ain't really knowed you to be bad with 'em," Daryl said. "Ain't hardly knowed you to be around 'em." Merle stared at him. Daryl thought that, maybe, he understood. He nodded his understanding. "Soph—she's an easy kid to be around. Easy kid to love. You gonna see, Merle. You gonna love her. She won't hardly let you do otherwise."

Merle cleared his throat and scratched at his neck.

"What about that food, brother?" He asked.

Daryl nodded his understanding.

"Yeah—let's get somethin' to eat. You drink still or you clean off that, too?"

Merle laughed to himself.

"Andrea don't care about drinkin'," Merle said. "Smoke a lil' grass. Long as—long as she feels like, ya know, like I'm still...she don't care about that so much."

"We got some whiskey in storage," Daryl said. "We'll get somethin' to eat. Have a drink. Talk about how we gonna get rid of this asshole. Then you gonna have plenty of time to get used to bein' around kids."


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"He sent me after Miss Personality because he had a fucking personal bounty on her head," Merle said. "Prob'ly because she was snoopin' around an' diggin' up shit. Couldn't just let it be. He figured when she left that she'd be back. Better to take care of her. He prefers that'cha don't leave, you see? That way you can't come back when you ain't wanted. Can't bring nobody back an' try to get what he's got."

"Paranoid as shit," Daryl said.

"If you think he had a bounty on my head before," Michonne offered, "then I can promise you that he's got one my head now."

Everyone turned to look at her.

So that they didn't keep the entire prison awake, they were all gathered outside. The small fire kept just enough light in the middle of them that they could see each other's' faces, but it wasn't bright enough to draw too many Walkers up to press against their fences.

Most of the prison was asleep. They weren't sure how they felt about the Governor. They weren't sure how they felt about Woodbury.

Rick, for his part, was suggesting that they could maybe negotiate with the man for peace. He didn't like Merle's suggestion that the Governor wasn't a man that could be reasoned with. Hershel—always the pacifist of their group—didn't really care for the idea of doing what they felt was probably going to be necessary.

Michonne had made up with Andrea—or at least the two women had called something of a truce, because they weren't actively arguing—simply because she believed that the only way to deal with Governor was going to be to do exactly what it was that Merle Dixon wanted to plan.

The Governor was going to have to be permanently removed from the picture.

"What the hell'd you do?" Merle asked, drinking from one of the bottles that they were passing around. He passed it to Andrea as soon as he'd taken a swallow.

"When we went back, I went looking for Andrea first," Michonne said. "I didn't find her. I went looking for him after that. I thought I'd kill him. I'd end the whole thing before it even started."

Merle hummed at her.

"But you ain't done it, so I'm guessin' things didn't go accordin' to plan?" He asked.

"Did you know he had a cage in his apartment?" Michonne asked. "Heads?"

"In a cage?" Daryl asked.

"The heads were in a fish tanks," Michonne said. "Walker heads and people heads. There was a head there from a man that I'd seen before. Someone he brought in with supplies. He said he was injured and he died. I guess that, now, we know how he died. The cage—in the cage there was a Walker. He came in. He called the Walker his daughter."

"Governor had a kid," Merle said. "Penny, I think, was her name. Mentioned her from time to time."

"Well he was keeping her in a cage," Michonne said. "As a Walker."

"Sick fuck," Merle said.

"So you're saying you didn't know about it?" Michonne asked.

Merle laughed to himself.

"My job was to do what the hell I was asked to do," Merle said. "Handle shit so as he ain't had to get his hands dirty sometimes. My job weren't to ask questions an' it sure as shit weren't to go fuckin' diggin' around in his personal shit."

"I put her down," Michonne said. "I made it out of there, but if he wanted me dead before, he certainly wants me dead now."

"Well ain't that just fuckin' fantastic," Merle said. "Now he's got even more of a reason to scour the damned area lookin' for her."

"Listen—there's no need to fight about it," Andrea said. "It doesn't matter why he's coming. He's coming because he wants the prison. Now he knows that people can live here. He knows it's been cleared. He knows there's supplies here. He's coming because he knows there are people here."

"And he's paranoid enough to see everybody who isn't working for him as a threat," Michonne said. "We should have left that place a long time ago."

"And you'da been killed," Merle said. "One way or another. The only reason you ain't gettin' your ass killed right now is 'cause we gonna kill him 'fore he gets the chance."

"You got a plan or what?" Daryl asked.

"Simple," Merle said. "We gotta get in there an' kill the bastard."

"It's not going to be that simple, though," Michonne said. "He's going to be looking for us now."

"So we go at night," Daryl said.

"Wrong," Merle said. "That's when the hell he'll think we'll come. That's when he's gonna be on high alert. I know exactly what he'll do. He'll set a guard up. There ain't no negotiatin' with him, neither. Not like Officer Friendly thinks. He'll be ready to lie if he's gotta do it to get what he wants. But he won't come through on no honest deal. We go during the day. I know the area. He'll come out if he thinks there's somethin' good to investigate in the area. He'll be comin' out to decide if it's gonna be people worth bringin' in or if he'd be better to wipe 'em out. We'll create somethin' to draw him out. Get a couple vehicles runnin' an' make him think they's people comin'. We don't fuck around. The minute he's clear, we take his ass out."

"An' then everybody else opens fire on us," Daryl said.

"If he goes down, they won't fight," Merle said. He shook his head. "Not a damn one of us woulda kept fightin' for his ass after he was dead. Thing is—we all owed him somethin', but that didn't mean that didn't everybody workin' for him dream about someday payin' off that debt. Not goin' out to do some job knowin' that if you was to fail him—you'd come back to him havin' fucked up whatever it was that meant the most to you."

Carol saw Merle's eyes flick quickly in Andrea's direction. Andrea, for her part, had developed some interest in her knees. Carol wondered just how many times the Governor had threatened Andrea to keep Merle in line.

"So we gonna just shoot him an' they all gonna be cool with it?" Daryl asked.

"We call a truce with 'em immediately," Merle said. "They know me. Call a truce. Tell 'em we don't want no trouble. Chances are that none of them want trouble neither. Then it's time to do what Officer Friendly wants. It's time to negotiate. Sit down. Talk. Figure out what we got that can help Woodbury an' what they got that can help us."

"You seem sure that this is going to work," Carol said.

"The only reason that the Governor ain't dead is 'cause there ain't never been nobody on the outside that wanted him dead," Merle said. "He's used the element of surprise to make sure that he drops any enemy that he thinks he's got 'fore they end up even bein' an enemy. If you leave, you're out. If you're in Woodbury, an' you even know that side of him is there? You're in his debt. Owe him somethin'. An' he makes a debt so that'cha can't never really pay it off. Holds his thumb over you."

"And you never just raised up an' fuckin' took him down, Merle?" Daryl asked. "I knowed you my whole life. One thing I ain't never knowed you to do since you haired over was to back down to nobody. No matter how hard they hit—you ain't backed down."

"It's different when Woodbury's all you got, brother," Merle said.

"He would have cut Andrea's throat," Michonne offered. "Beheaded her, probably, from what I saw in his office. Whatever it took to get to Merle. Even I know that."

"And then he'da killed me," Merle said.

"So you were scared of him?" Carol asked.

"Wouldn't say that," Merle said. "But you can't be in all places at all times, Mouse. Sooner or later, you got'cha back turned."

"But you think that this is going to be simple to achieve," Carol said. "You're not worried that someone's going to get killed?"

Merle laughed to himself.

"I know somebody's gonna get killed. Kinda the whole damned idea. We gonna kill him."

"But you're not worried that someone else is going to get killed?" Carol pressed.

"Gonna be careful," Merle said. "Hell—I got no guarantees."

"We don't have guarantees even when we just go down to the creek," Daryl said.

"Those are Walkers we're dealing with," Carol said. "Not men with guns set on assassination."

"You forgettin' that we about to be men with guns set on assassination," Daryl pointed out. Carol felt a shiver run through her body. Daryl reached out and put an arm around her shoulder. He pulled her close to him. "You OK?"

"I don't like the thought of it," Carol said. "It terrifies me to think of you not coming back."

"Been plenty a' times I might notta come back," Daryl offered.

"This feels different. There's never been a time that you were going chasing after a madman," Carol said.

"I'll make a deal with ya, Mouse," Merle said. Carol looked at him. "You—make sure Andrea stays here. She don't go runnin' out the damned fences while I'm gone an' vanishin' somewhere, an' I'ma make sure my baby brother brings his scrawny ass right back in them gates." He raised his eyebrows at Carol. "We got a deal?"

"Andrea doesn't need me to babysit her," Carol said.

Merle laughed to himself.

"An' Daryl don't need me to babysit him," Merle said. "But—just the sound of it made you feel a lil' bit better, didn't it? So what'cha say, we got a deal?"

Carol sucked in a breath and let it out. She appreciated, at the very least, what the eldest Dixon was trying to do. She also appreciated that Andrea, rather than argue about being thrust into the middle of things, simply accepted the exchange that was taking place.

"What can we do to help you get ready?" Carol asked.

"We're gonna need ammunition," Merle said. "Firearms. Whatever you got so we don't run outta bullets in case they start firing."

"I can go through storage," Carol said. "There's not much, but we'll get together what we have."

"Divide it in half," Daryl said. "We don't want y'all bein' cleaned out just in case somethin' were to find its way here."

Carol nodded her understanding.

"We'll need at least two cars," Michonne said. "One for diversion and one for a car to bring back here—just in case something happens to the car we use for the diversion."

"We've got lot'sa runnin' cars," Daryl said. "And Axel can damn near get a vehicle runnin' in half an hour from totally dead. That ain't gonna be no problem."

"Gonna need a good breakfast," Merle said. "Somethin' that sticks to the ribs. Don't need nobody losin' their concentration 'cause their damned stomach won't let 'em think out there."

"I can make breakfast," Carol said. "I do every morning. I can make something filling."

"I'll help," Andrea said.

"I'll recruit help," Daryl said. "T-Dog'll be on our side without a doubt. I'm sure that Glenn will want to help as soon as he hears there's a plan to get some revenge. Everyone else is likely to fall into place after that."

"But we leave enough here," Merle said. "Just in case. We don't wanna expect just the Mouse an' Andrea to hold this place with a couple kids."

"Don't worry about us," Carol said. "Just—get rid of him and get back. All of you. In one piece. If you do? I'll make you a dinner fit for a king, Merle."

Merle chuckled to himself.

"That's damn near motivation enough in itself to get this shit handled," Merle said.

"And Andrea will handle whatever other motivation you might need," Carol offered.

Merle caught her eyes across the campfire and chuckled to himself. The laughter was contagious, and Carol felt it rollin' around in her chest. Andrea even laughed, though she did shake her head and divert her eyes for a moment.

"She damn sure will," Merle said. "I like you." He turned to Daryl. "I like her. She's got—somethin'. Yeah—Andrea'll take care a' me. But what I'm worried about is—if you takin' care of my lil' baby brother, Mouse. Like he deserves to be took care of."

"I certainly didn't get pregnant serving him breakfast, Merle," Carol responded. She didn't miss his shit-eating grin. "Don't you worry about Daryl. I'll handle him. You just get him—and everyone else—back here."

Merle chuckled.

"Yes ma'am," he said. "You heard the woman, Andrea. Seems like it's just about time to go an' find out how the hell we expected to sleep on that damn tiny ass lil' prison cot."

"We've got extra beds in storage," Carol said. "In another cell. We got them from a store we raided. Took a whole truck of furniture and supplies. Beds and mattresses."

"Good," Merle said. He got up and reached his hand out for Andrea. She took it and let him help her to her feet even though she could have probably gotten up without a problem. "Looks like you got you somethin' to do while we gone tomorrow. Find us a bed so we can sleep proper knowin' that asshole's sleepin' the longest damned sleep there is."

Merle didn't wait for a reply. He tossed out a few goodnights, received some in return, and tugged Andrea toward the prison as she did the same.

Michonne sat for a moment in silence before she got up and, without saying anything and without acknowledging a single goodnight offered in her direction, she walked away. She disappeared into the cover of the night, presumably walking the yard before she slipped into the prison to get some sleep. Carol sat there a moment longer with Daryl before he finally stood up and offered her hand.

"Come on," he said. "We might as well put this fire out an' get some sleep. We gonna have an early mornin'."

"You better come back to me," Carol said. She accepted Daryl's hand and let him help her up.

"I always do," Daryl said. "An' I always will—long as it's in my power. You just better be here when I get here. Don't'cha go runnin' off with nobody while I'm gone."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I'm serious," she said. "Don't do anything stupid. If it looks like you can't win it..."

"We'll be back," Daryl said. "An' when we get back, this asshole's gonna be gone an' we gonna do ever' damned thing we planned on doin' without a single reason to worry. You gonna see. Now come on—I want us to get a few minutes 'fore we fall asleep. Let's not waste no more of them minutes out here worryin' over shit that ain't even gonna happen."

Carol shivered at the thought of something happening, but Daryl slipped his arm around her and she immediately felt comforted. She felt confident that he would come back to her. He always did. She stood with him while he doused the fire and then she followed him inside the prison, letting him tug her along by the hand.

And, like he asked, she did her best to leave her worry in the prison yard.


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Anxiety hung in the air. Merle and Daryl had explained the plan and Glenn had quickly signed on along with Maggie and T-Dog. Big Tiny wasn't difficult to convince, either, and, though Rick said he would have preferred a violence-free resolution to the problem, he was satisfied with the fact that the fight was taking place away from the prison and away from his family.

Together, most of the group had gathered together the supplies that they'd needed, and they'd left to take care of the problem at hand. They'd agreed that it was better to handle it quickly. The incident that Michonne reported having with the Governor meant that he might be more driven to come looking for her—and he might stumble upon the prison and remember that he wanted it, too. Merle thought it was best not to give him the opportunity to think about things too long.

The Governor had to die, and the sooner the better.

Carol had been left behind with only a handful of people—most of them were preferred not to fight for one reason or another—and she was starting to feel like it was her job to keep them all busy and entertained to chase away some of the anxiety that was hanging heavy around them.

Sophia was mad. It was the middle of the day and her Daddy had left along with several of her family members. What was worse, of course, was that her mother had things to attend to and wasn't going to let her go traipsing off to the animal pens alone.

And her Papa Hershel, though he was usually quite easily persuaded to give her his undivided attention, was working in his vegetables rather than playing with her like she wanted. And Beth, her other personal playmate, was occupying herself with Judith rather than taking time to attend to Sophia's every whim.

Sophia was making it known to anyone and everyone that she was unhappy with everything about her life. The only condolence that she'd accepted was a little of the milk that Carol offered her—accepted only because it came with the comfort of being cuddled while she nursed—and the small corner of a chocolate bar that Andrea had produced from the bag she'd brought with her from Woodbury.

Accepting that she wasn't likely to get more than that, though, until her Papa Hershel had finished tending their future food, she gone to sit in the dirt near where Carol worked and to begin digging a hole that, from what she told Carol, was going to take her all the way to a garbled place whose proper title apparently couldn't be understood by anyone who didn't fluently speak grumpy toddler.

It was easy to forgive Sophia the way she was acting. She was a small child and she had fewer coping skills than the adults around her. When things in her life didn't go according to plan, she had a difficult time finding ways to express her disappointment that weren't throwing some kind of tantrum or pouting with her bottom firmly planted in the dirt.

Unfortunately, though, Carol was finding her small child to be one of the better behaved members of the group.

To keep busy, Carol had made sure that there was a very large assortment of absolutely necessary and suddenly urgent chores that had to be attended to.

Among those chores, she'd recruited Axel and Carl's help to find a bed in the storage cells for Andrea and Merle. She'd given them the job of removing the bed that was already in the cell and setting the new one up in the cell that Andrea and Merle would be calling home. As long as they had a bed, Carol could also put people to work washing sheets that could dry in the sun. And, of course, as long as there were sheets to be washed, they could also wash up some of the other laundry that always seemed ready to overtake the prison.

It was just laundry and, really, it shouldn't have caused a problem, but the anxiety that hung in the air was also putting people on edge.

It was the way that Lori handled something from the laundry pile after Andrea identified it as hers that led Andrea to say something.

"It's not like I have the plague," Andrea said. Carol heard her tone and recognized that she was attempting to make it sound like she was joking, but there was certainly an element of offense to her tone.

"Who knows what you have? You _are_ sleeping with Merle Dixon," Lori commented. Lori's response was half under her breath, and she pretended that it was meant as a joke, but Carol could easily hear that it wasn't meant as a joke. Andrea could hear it as well.

Andrea and Lori had had problems in the past. They'd butted heads more than once before Andrea had been lost to the group.

It appeared that they might have problems again.

At the moment, Carol was on Andrea's side for a few reasons. Andrea was, in reality, a better worker while they were doing chores. Lori would complain that Andrea didn't do her share, but Carol thought that Andrea did a reasonable amount of work and, what was more important to Carol than that, she did it without bitching about it every single moment. Carol also felt that, maybe, they ought to cut Andrea some slack. She'd been left behind and they'd been the ones to leave her behind. She'd made her way the best she could, and she'd survived the best she could. She was clearly feeling a little out of place now that she'd found them again and it was only right that be kind to her and let her settle in just a bit.

The main reason, though, that Carol was on Andrea's side was because she felt a strange kinship with the woman that went even beyond the friendship that they shared.

Andrea was sleeping with Merle Dixon according to Lori. Carol preferred to paint the same idea a little differently and say that Andrea was in a relationship with Merle Dixon. Andrea had chosen to be part of a relationship with a man whom she found honorable—despite his past shortcomings—and she was dealing with the fact that there would be some who didn't think highly of Merle, or of her for being with him.

And she wasn't apologizing about it.

Carol felt a kinship to her because she, too, was in a relationship with a Dixon. She was in a relationship with Merle's own brother. She'd seen, firsthand, how judgmental some people could be. They were happy to have Daryl, and they were happy to use him for things, but that didn't mean that some of them hadn't judged him—and they'd done so without even bothering to get to know him beyond the parts of him that could serve them.

Lori was one of the worst. And Carol had mostly always let things slide because of the fact that Lori was something like the queen bee in the group, and Carol would have been facing her mostly on her own. And, in reality, she needed to get along with Lori because they were two of the only women of relatively the same age left in the world.

But, suddenly, Carol found herself with something of an ally—and a formidable one at that. She'd only briefly told her story in passing, but it was a fairly impressive one, at least in Carol's opinion.

Andrea had survived out there when they'd left her behind. She'd been alone until she'd found Michonne. She'd survived with Michonne until she'd fallen ill. She'd survived whatever the illness had been. She'd found Merle Dixon and she'd found something good in him—but she'd also had the strength to stand up to him and demand his sobriety in exchange for her affections. And, now, she had the strength to return to the group and to hold her head up high even when she was sure that they might be judging her for the path she'd chosen to walk and the choices that she'd made.

Carol wondered if that might be one reason that she'd even clashed with Lori in the past. Carol had wondered, though she'd never said it out loud before, if that might be a reason that Lori had clashed with several of the personalities with which she'd collided before.

Lori had never really faced any kind of adversity. She'd always been protected and pampered—even at the worst of times for their group.

And, even in the darkest times when she might have been found guilty for some of her behaviors, she'd been an expert at shifting the focus and blame.

Lori was, possibly, threatened by those who had stood up to a bit more than she had in life. She was used to people letting things slide and letting her have her way.

When Andrea came for her now, though, she came with fangs practically bared and Lori physically backed up and moved away as Andrea hit her feet and entered what would have been Lori's personal space before she'd taken the few quick steps of retreat.

"I am sleeping with Merle Dixon," Andrea said. "And I don't think I was trying to keep that a secret at all."

"You weren't," Lori said. "In fact, you tortured all of us last night. The prison isn't soundproof, you know."

"Neither were the woods at the rock quarry," Andrea said. "Or the showers at the CDC. Or that hayloft in the horse barn on Hershel's farm." She smirked at the look on Lori's face when her cheeks ran red. "All of us knew. At least I'm doing what I'm doing in the open. I'm not ashamed of Merle."

"He's an addict," Lori said.

"He's recovering," Andrea said. "He's clean. And he's saving your ass right now so that the Governor doesn't come with his henchmen and snatch this safe haven out from under you. So you and your kids don't go back on the road again—because it's a hard life out there. Believe me. I know."

"He might be getting people killed!" Lori snarled. "That plan was—it was ridiculous. It has half a chance to work."

"And yet it was still better than Rick's kumbaya plan," Andrea said. "Maybe we should ask Shane what he'd like to do...but I forgot to ask. What happened to Shane? Did you leave him somewhere, too? When you got tired of him? Or did you finally drive him to—what was it that Daryl called it? Opt out? Drive him to leave the group to save himself?"

Lori look like Andrea had reached out a hand and slapped her across the face. Carol started toward the two women at this point to start to break up the fight before it blossomed into something worse.

"Shane is dead," Lori said, her voice dropping. The blood ran out of her face.

Andrea seemed to lose a little of her fight, too, suddenly. Carol slowed her steps. There wasn't quite the emergency that she'd feared. It seemed the fight was already ready to fizzle out. Maybe there was just a need to spit and snarl at each other a little before they settled in.

"Dead—like you thought I was dead?" Andrea asked. "Or did you actually wait to see? Did you—actually care enough about him to make sure?"

Carol swallowed. Her chest tightened suddenly and violently. For a split second, it felt like her heart seized up and missed a beat or two.

Lori's shoulders sagged forward just a bit more.

"Shane is dead," Lori said. "Rick—killed him."

Andrea stopped. She looked toward Carol like she was seeking confirmation. Carol simply nodded her head. She hadn't witnessed anything that had happened, but the story had been told that Shane had been set on killing Rick. In self-defense, Rick had killed him and Carl had put him down.

"I'm sorry," Andrea said.

"Shane wasn't well," Carol said. "But—that's a story for another time."

"I didn't know," Andrea said. She tossed the words, along with an honestly sympathetic look, in the direction of Lori.

"Now you do," Lori said. "We don't—we don't talk about it. What's in the past..."

"Isn't always in the past," Andrea said.

"It has to be," Lori said.

Carol felt the tension between the two women dissolving entirely. It was being replaced with something else. She could almost taste the fatigue that followed a fight. The sinking exhaustion was palpable. They'd be calm and still for most of the rest of the day simply because their bodies had put more than was necessary into the quick and fruitless clash.

"I just hope Merle doesn't get Rick killed," Lori said. She wiped her hand quickly across her nose and looked around like she had heard a noise. "I have to check on Carl. I've got—some things I need to do."

She walked off, quickly, without saying anything else.

Andrea looked back toward Carol.

"I should apologize," Andrea said.

"For what?" Carol asked. "Not knowing something you weren't around to know? The story we've been told was that Shane tried to kill Rick. Rick killed him. Carl put him down. Since then—things have been...tense between Rick and Lori. To say the least."

Andrea laughed nervously to herself.

"I could see how that could—cause some tension," Andrea said. "If Rick ever knew that..."

"He knew," Carol said. "They're having a lot of problems but...she's still his wife and they haven't quite worked out how separation works in the prison. Rick's been back and forth dealing with things. Every day is a bit of a surprise when it comes to those two. But—Lori's still Rick's wife and something of the unofficial first lady around here."

"Shit," Andrea said. "I didn't mean to come back and start trouble from the beginning."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I have a feeling that Merle won't be pissed to hear about it," Carol said. "Daryl, either. To be honest—he's had his share of problems with Lori. We all have. You just acted on your feelings. You're tired." Carol could see the emotion on Andrea's face. Andrea sighed and nodded. "You need to rest."

"I'll rest when they're all back," Andrea said.

"I understand that, too," Carol assured. "They'll be back. For the record, Andrea—we wanted to go back for you. Daryl and I—we talked about it. But..."

Andrea shook her head.

"It doesn't matter," she said.

"It does," Carol assured her.

Andrea shook her head again.

"I don't need your apology," Andrea said.

Carol nodded her acceptance. Maybe later, and maybe in some other form, the woman would accept an apology that Carol truly meant.

"Well, at any rate, you're home now," Carol said. "And it's good to have you home."

Andrea smiled at her.

"I appreciate that," she said. "I just—hope that Lori doesn't have a right to be upset. I hope that everything works out and Merle doesn't—get anyone killed."

"Merle isn't responsible for everyone out there any more than you're responsible for everyone in here," Carol said. "They'll come back. We just have to believe that. In the meantime—help me convince Sophia to take a nap. Then we'll get your cell ready. Give Merle something nice to come home to."


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: Here we are, another chapter.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Where's Daddy?" Sophia asked as Carol tucked her into the space where she'd normally lie between them to hear stories and soothe any bad dreams that she might have. She'd stay there until she fell asleep and then Carol would make the transfer to her bed—a bed that she might not be calling her own for much longer if Daryl was able to get a space set up for her in a neighboring cell.

Carol sat down on the bed. She didn't know how long the entire process would take. She didn't know how long it would take for them to lure the Governor out of Woodbury to investigate what he would, hopefully, believe would be potential new citizens. She didn't know, once they'd killed the man, how long it would take for them to convince the people of Woodbury that they meant them no harm despite the fact that they'd killed the man they had taken as their leader. She didn't know how long it would it take for them to convince the people of Woodbury that the inhabitants of the prison wanted to form an alliance with them that would, hopefully, serve both communities in the future.

Carol knew it was a pretty tall order, and it may take a while. When night came, too, she knew that it was truly better for all of them to seek shelter. She didn't know when it was reasonable to expect them back, but feelings weren't always reasonable and she was starting to worry.

She wasn't going to let her little one know that, though.

She wanted Sophia to be happy as much as she possible could. Sophia deserved that.

"Daddy had to go and take care of the bad man," Carol said. "So that he couldn't hurt anyone anymore."

"But where is he?" Sophia asked, trying to sit up. Carol pushed her back and offered her the lamb snuggly that she adored. Sophia took it and arranged it like she wanted it. She liked the face of the lamb near her face and the blanket body threaded through her fingers.

"He's gone with—with your Uncle Merle and your Uncle Rick and your Uncle Glenn and Uncle T and Uncle Tiny—they're all gone to take care of things," Carol said.

"When they gonna come back?" Sophia asked.

Carol smiled at her.

"As soon as they can," Carol assured her. "I bet they'll be here when you wake up. But you have to close your eyes. Because the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner they'll be back."

"I need to see Daddy," Sophia offered sincerely. "He's gotta kiss me or I'll get the bad dreams with the monsters."

Carol swallowed and nodded. Daryl was very rarely gone overnight if he could avoid it, but it happened from time to time.

"He gave me a kiss for you," Carol said. "To save for tonight. Are you ready for it? He left it with me. And I kept it safe. Are you ready for it, Soph?"

Sophia's bottom lip rolled out, but the corners of her smile drew upward in promise of the "saved" kiss. It was something that Carol had come up with some long time ago, but it worked so she did it whenever she needed to.

"OK..." Carol said. She faked reaching in the folds of her nightgown as though she had a pocket there. The pocket didn't have to be real to fool Sophia—at least not yet. She pulled out the saved kiss in her closed hand and pressed it to her lips. Then she leaned forward—pretend kiss ready on her lips—and delicately pressed it to Sophia's forehead. "Did you feel it, sweetheart?" Carol asked, keeping her voice low.

"Yes, Mama," Sophia responded. She yawned. If Carol could keep her still and quiet, she'd go to sleep soon.

"Good," Carol said. "Now—let's have a story and then you can have one of my kisses."

"Milk?" Sophia asked. "Please?"

"You can have some milk while I tell you the story," Carol offered. "Let me get in bed—and you can tell me what you want to hear."

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol's head ached and her muscles felt achy. Her whole body felt heavy. It didn't matter, though. She couldn't sleep. Every time she so much as closed her eyes, her mind was flooded with visions that she didn't want to see. She imagined horrible things and convinced herself, somehow, that just imagining them would make them come to be.

She'd kept herself awake to keep the visions away from her eyes. She'd checked on Sophia a thousand times, but the girl was sleeping soundly. Once she was out, she was usually gone to the world until something made her pop her little eyes open to start her day.

And Sophia wasn't plagued with the bad dreams that she'd feared might come to pass without her Daddy there to ward them off. She'd gotten a specially saved goodnight kiss from her Daddy and she was dreaming about seeing him in her waking hours.

The cow that Carol had chosen to milk had practically thanked Carol for a surprise milking in the middle of the night. As though the milk that she produced wasn't warm enough on its own, Carol had built a small fire for herself and had warmed the milk to a bubbling almost-boil while she stirred it absentmindedly and watched for any sign that there was movement in the dark beyond the stirring of the animals inside the prison fences and the stirring of the Walkers beyond.

She'd put the fire out immediately. She didn't want the flamed to draw unwanted attention in the darkness, and she didn't want to take any chances that a spark might jump and light something else—especially not with so many members of their family missing.

When her milk was hot, Carol had wrapped herself in Daryl's poncho—a garment that, despite how many times she washed it, always held the smell of Daryl's sweat and whatever it was that made him simply smell uniquely like Daryl—and she'd settled down to rest with her back against the prison wall while she'd sipped her warm milk from a mug.

She must have closed her eyes, even though she never meant to.

Because one moment she was simply wrapped in warmth and the smell of Daryl—filling her body with the artificial warmth of a hug that the milk offered—and the next moment she was wrapped in an entirely different kind of warmth.

The feeling of falling jerked Carol violently out of the sleep that she'd never intended to experience and Daryl quickly pulled her tighter against him.

"Shhhh...shhhh..." he crooned. "Easy. I ain't gonna drop you if you don't make me. You can't spend the night sittin' in the cold dirt, Carol. I ain't sure, but I know that can't be good for you."

Somewhere Carol had lost the mug, but she'd kept the poncho.

It was dark. She was no longer outside. She was moving, her body swaying with Daryl's steps, in the corridors of the prison. He was holding her and she could smell him—she could smell everything about him that was simultaneously disgusting and pleasant when he desperately needed a bath—and it wasn't a dream.

"When did you...?" She asked.

"Sun's just comin' up," Daryl said. "As soon as we could see, we high tailed it outta there."

"Out of?" Carol asked.

"Woodbury," Daryl said.

"The Governor?"

"Dead," Daryl said. "Him an' one more guy that was with him. Didn't mean for that one to die, but he went for his gun an' T panicked. Put a bullet through his brain 'fore he could even hear us tellin' him that we didn't mean him no harm."

Carol's heart thundered oddly in her chest. Her head swam. It hadn't entirely come out of the stupor of sleep.

"He's dead," Carol said. "The Governor?"

"And good," Daryl said. "Merle hit him dead between the eyes. He couldn't even come back."

"Is everyone...?" Carol asked.

"They all back," Daryl said. "Fightin' over cold bathwater now."

"I can warm water up," Carol offered. She thought about moving to try to act on this offer, but she stayed still. She didn't want to make things more difficult on Daryl and he wasn't moving to put her down.

"You can sleep," Daryl said. "It won't hurt a single one of us to wash the day off with some good cold water. Got somebody there that's gonna come help us get these fuckin' showers workin'. Might even get us some solar panels. Got some real handy people there in Woodbury."

"You talked to them?" Carol asked.

"Took the bodies back," Daryl said.

"They didn't try to fight?"

Daryl guided her into their cell and eased her down so that she could stand on her feet on the cell floor. She shed the poncho, sweating a little from its warmth, and quickly lit the lamp beside their bed.

"Sure they come out worried," Daryl said. "Who the hell could blame 'em? But they recognized Merle. Listened to him—that was the damnedest thing. At first they was a lil' bit suspicious, but we put our guns away. We ain't threatened 'em. Told 'em who we was. They gonna regroup. Figure out what they doin' now that they gotta find a new way to do things. But Rick told 'em they was welcome to come here if they wanted. Maybe some of ours might wanna come there, ya know? Made it clear that we was lookin' for somethin' open between us. Some exchange. Not like we was lookin' to take them over, an' not like we was lookin' to come there an' take all they got without offerin' a single thing in return."

Carol smiled at Daryl. He stared at her a second, and then he smiled back. He laughed low in his throat.

"Why you lookin' at me like that?" He asked.

"I'm happy to see you," Carol said. "I was scared that—something might happen."

"Nothin' happened," Daryl said.

"I didn't know it wouldn't," Carol said.

"You know me better'n that," Daryl said. "Always comin' back, right? Ain't that what I said?"

"Always, as long as you're able," Carol said.

Daryl leaned and, rather than respond to her with words, he pressed his lips to hers. She opened her mouth a little and he accepted her request to deepen the kiss. She felt his arms go around her and she felt him pull her to him. She let him do what he wanted—she would have let him do anything he wanted at that moment. Her body reacted with a throbbing sensation at the very thought of it.

But Daryl requested nothing more than the kiss and the embrace before he broke away from her.

"Sophia?" He asked.

"She's asleep," Carol said.

"She weren't no trouble?" Daryl asked.

"She's been mad all day," Carol said. "She's thrown about ten tantrums, but she finally fell asleep because I offered her a kiss that I'd been saving from you."

Daryl laughed to himself. He knew about the saved kisses. He'd used the trick himself, before, when Carol had gone on a run and Sophia had reacted badly to the thought of being without her mother.

"You shoulda saved you up a whole pocketful like I done," Daryl said. "Then you could dole 'em out at regular intervals."

Carol smiled at him.

"She misses you," Carol said. "I miss you, too."

"Miss you," Daryl said. He cleared his throat. "Everybody else act OK?"

"Andrea and Lori got into it," Carol said. "But—that's to be expected. I imagine it won't be the last time."

"Got a lotta Alpha females around here," Daryl said. "It's bound to happen."

"At least I'm not one," Carol offered.

Daryl raised his eyebrows at her.

"You are," he said. "You're just content to let others take the position. But—if you wanted. You OK, though? I mean—they ain't like got into it an' caught you up in it? Baby's OK?"

Carol smiled at him.

"It wasn't that kind of fight," she assured him. "Everyone's fine. I was just worried. But now I feel—wonderful. I'd like it if you'd come to bed, though."

Daryl kissed her again.

"In a minute," he said. "I got dirt an' sweat—'til I smell like a bull's ass. I'ma go get me one of them cold baths."

"Let me warm you up some water," Carol said.

Daryl shook his head.

"I'd rather you stayed here," Daryl said. "Rather you warm the bed up for me. Have it ready—for when I get back?"

Carol smiled at him.

"It's a pretty tall order," she teased. "But—I think I can handle it. Just don't take too long."

Daryl smiled.

"Knowin' you waitin'," he said, "I'll fight my way to the front of the line if I gotta."

111111111111111111111111111111111111

 **AN: I'm sorry to admit that this story won't be full of a great deal of action-packed drama. It's going to have a lot of "life" things for our family, but it's not going to be constant things-blowing-up-omg-drama. I hope that's OK. I just wanted you to know.**


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **This is our first Merle-centric chapter, but I'm sure we'll occasionally have some other character centric chapters thrown in here and there.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Merle couldn't say that there had been absolutely no point in his life where he had even contemplated the possibility that he might end up living in a prison cell somewhere but what he could say was that, nowhere in his imagination, had the life looked anything like the one he was potentially facing now.

Andrea had been up most of the night worrying about if they'd get back and, when they'd returned, she'd been up for a while to offer the best welcome back that she could to Merle. Despite the fact that he'd been awake too, Merle was up early ad Andrea was sleeping soundly.

Merle had stayed a moment in their fancy new bed in a prison cell they would now call home to watch Andrea sleep.

Everything had changed since the blonde had come back into his life—seeming to need something from him that he wasn't even sure that he was capable of giving.

He hadn't been this sober in longer than he could recall. He was still a killer, and the metallic scent of blood was still in his nostrils, but at least, this time, he felt like he'd killed with a genuine purpose that he could understand.

Andrea had given herself over to him in the most complete sense of the word. She'd given him everything he'd requested of her. She'd given him what he wanted from her in the basest sense of the word—and he wasn't a man that ever turned away a good piece of pussy—but she'd also given him things that he didn't know he'd been missing or wanting.

And she'd given him his baby brother back.

The morning was cool, and Merle wasn't wearing sleeves, but he didn't care. Every now and again—especially since Andrea had forced him into sobriety—he liked to let himself get hungry, cold, or thirsty. He liked to allow himself some sensations of discomfort. They made him feel alive every bit as much as the pleasure he indulged in did these days.

The prison was hardly awake.

The animals called out from their pens, likely because they wanted to be fed or milked or both, and chickens bawked and squawked as they ran around the prison yard, clearly having already been freed from their pen for the day.

The smell of wood smoke was almost crisp in the cool air, and Merle followed it quickly to the area where a small fire was burning.

Beyond the smell of the wood smoke, Merle could smell coffee and something more.

He stopped as soon as the small fire came into view.

Merle hadn't been noticed by anyone or anything. Not even the clucking chickens had noticed him. He backed against the wall of the prison and pressed himself somewhat flatly against the cold bricks. He wanted to remain out of sight and unnoticed for just a moment.

Andrea had given him his baby brother back, but his baby brother was not the man that Merle had once known. He wasn't the man that had left the trailer with Merle the morning that their neighbor had shown up clawing at their door and, when they'd opened to door to find him halfway to his feet from where he'd belly-crawled up their three front steps, they'd realized he was dead and shouldn't be seeking to get in their home at all.

Daryl was probably the sweetest Dixon that had ever drawn breath. He'd been that way since he was a kid. He was loving and affectionate. Early on he'd stuck to their mother like he was a possum and couldn't possibly exist without the support of the woman—even when she was hardly in the right frame of mind to offer him anything he needed. He would have loved their old man just as fiercely, too, if the old man had let him. There were times he'd nearly smothered Merle.

Merle wondered, if they'd all been a bit more used to so much affection and acceptance, how Daryl might have turned out in a world where he could boast that all his needs had been met.

But Merle knew that he needed to be harder than he was. They didn't live the kind of life that would let the boy be a pussy. He'd pay for it if he didn't conquer that part of himself sooner rather than later. Merle had fought him to become harder than he was for his own good. He'd needed that thicker skin when their mother had died, too. He'd needed it when he realized that life wasn't going to be fair to him—not as a Dixon and especially not as the son of John Dixon, known to half the damn county as Rooster Dixon, the biggest asshole that ever breathed air.

Daryl toughened up. He learned that people weren't worth shit and most of them weren't going to be there for you, so you couldn't depend on a soul. He learned, well, all the lessons that Merle felt he had to teach him.

Lessons that would stop him from feeling the hurt as deeply as Merle had felt it the first time around.

Daryl had learned to drink and to smoke. He'd learned to cuss and talk shit. He'd learned to bust his knuckles and to win fights because that was how the hell you got respect among the people they went around—people that sometimes didn't like giving respect. He learned to not give a damn and to not expect much out of life.

Daryl had learned his lessons well, but he'd never really been good at living them.

He'd been sore that they lived in a trailer that had holes in the walls that were big enough they could have thrown cats through them as evening entertainment. He'd hated when unpaid bills got amenities cut off, and he'd longed for some kind of comfort and security that both of them knew existed, even if neither of them had ever experienced it.

Daryl had been sorry that he'd never been able to land a decent job—because most people in the area didn't seem too keen on giving him a chance because of his reputation, which one was one he never really earned—and that he'd never had a chance to really make enough money to do more than scrape by.

Daryl had been pissed that the only women on offer to him were the kind of women that sometimes require penicillin and only wanted a night with you—they preferred not to even know your last name. Merle had learned to have a taste for those women, because that was just about all the hell he was ever going to have, but Daryl had chosen something else entirely. He'd chosen something that looked a whole lot like some kind of monk-supported celibacy.

Merle was pretty sure that his little brother, when they left that shitty trailer in Georgia with Daryl in his truck and Merle on his bike, had never so much as smelled a pussy before.

Now it seemed that Daryl was at least a little bit experienced. Whether or not he'd meant to, and whether or not it had been his first piece, it seemed that he'd gone and knocked the Mouse up.

Daryl had been sniffing around that Mouse from the first moment he'd seen her, though. She wasn't bad to look at, but her face was often somewhat bruised up. She had a husband who had no respect for her, and she wasn't exactly asking anyone to help her get rid of him. They'd all left well enough alone because they didn't want to cause shit in the camp. After all, what was there to do but kill the man for his sins? If they just beat his ass, he wasn't smart enough to stop. His dumb ass would just come back worse than before and it would've been the quiet and frail little woman—and the baby she kept close to her—that would've caught the brunt of him. They'd left him alone because killing him was all that would stop him—and nobody was willing to admit they were at a point where they could openly kill people without fear of repercussion. Once that started, after all, there was no telling who would be next or where they would draw the line for things that earned you the death penalty.

Daryl had watched her night and day, though. Merle had seen him, even though he'd thought he was hiding it. It seemed that fate had thrown his brother some kind of bone, and it had rid the world of the quiet woman's husband so that Daryl could hop in there and try to snatch her up before someone else got around to it.

Someone else would have gotten around to it. She wasn't bad to look at, after all, and Merle remembered her being a good cook. On top of that, the pickings were somewhat slim at the end of the world. There was hardly somebody for everybody these days.

Of course, he probably would have had some time to still drag his feet. For what Merle could recall, it seemed like everyone had been after just the one piece in the camp—a piece that he wouldn't have wanted if she'd offered it to him on a silver platter.

But then, that was just his opinion, and he knew it didn't count for much.

Merle didn't have a damn thing against a woman who gave of her pussy freely, and he wasn't about to call a woman out for enjoying a good fuck as much as he did and, therefore, searching it out wherever it might be offered, but he did have a problem with who played higher than thou when everyone knew she was passing that thing around to anyone that wanted a taste.

With his back pressed against the cold wall, Merle dared to light himself a cigarette. He was unnoticed. Nobody gave a shit what he was doing and most of the world was still asleep. His own darling baby brother was the keeper of the small fire. He sat near it—but not too close—drinking a cup of what Merle could smell to be coffee.

On his lap there was a plate, and he was eating something off the plate with his fingers.

That wasn't what interested Merle, though. What interested Merle was the fact that, sitting in the dirt next to Daryl, almost mirroring his position exactly and somewhat leaning against him, was the little girl. Sophia. She sat with her own plate in her lap, and her sippy cup beside her.

She was smiling. She was happy. She was chattering away. Snatches of her conversation with Daryl carried over to Merle as he watched them. He couldn't make out every word that the girl said. He didn't speak her language entirely fluently, but he could make out parts of it.

"They is big...they is big because...um...fat worms," Sophia said.

"They eat big worms so they big?" Daryl asked.

He looked so damn happy that Merle swallowed back the laughter that it stirred up within him.

"Yes, Daddy," Sophia agreed. "Big worms. Fat worms. So they sooo big."

"Do you eat worms?" Daryl asked. "That why you so big?"

The little girl laughed. She didn't giggle. She didn't snicker. She threw her tiny head back and she laughed—mouth wide open—with total abandon. She laughed like she'd heard the best joke of her entire life. Daryl laughed along with her and Merle swallowed back his own laughter so it didn't give him away as he watched them. When she was done laughing, she wiggled—dancing back and forth from side to side—on the ground and brushed her cheek against Daryl's arm as though she were a cat.

"You silly, Daddy!" She declared loudly. "You silly!"

Daryl shushed her. Told her she'd scare the chickens. She apologized and he immediately told her it was nothing to worry about, but they wanted to let the others sleep a bit more.

"You need more Daddycakes?" Daryl asked.

"Mmmmm hmmm, please," she slurred out at him.

The food on Daryl's plate immediately changed to the little girl's plate and Daryl served her something from a jar. She stuck her finger in it and licked her finger clean before she laughed again and thanked Daryl for his efforts. She filled her mouth with food before she pointed out toward the clucking chickens and started to say something else—garbled by her age and her full mouth—that Merle couldn't understand. Nonetheless, it seemed that Daryl was more than capable of understanding it. He responded with great interest, never allowing the little girl to feel ignored.

Andrea had given Merle his little brother back.

And maybe she'd given Daryl the older brother that he missed—the one that he said he hadn't seen in a long time since Merle had turned to drugs for the comfort and happiness that life wasn't giving him.

Maybe Andrea had given Merle something that made him realize he really didn't need that artificial comfort and happiness. Maybe she'd given him something that was better and didn't come with all the side effects. He'd never tell her that, though. Not exactly. He wasn't sure he could.

But she'd also given Merle his little brother back.

And just like she'd returned Merle a bit different to Daryl, the Daryl that Merle found was a different man than the one he'd known before.

Merle wasn't used to seeing his brother look happy, but it looked good on him.

Merle finished his cigarette and snubbed it out before he gave up his hiding spot and started in Daryl's direction.

"That coffee I smell, lil' brother?" Merle called out before he approached, not wanting to startle anyone except the chickens with his presence.


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl directed Merle to the stack of clean dishes that he'd set out on one of the picnic tables. He poured Merle a cup of hot coffee and offered it to him. Merle took a seat on the ground to join the picnic breakfast that Daryl had arranged for him and Sophia to share.

"That milk's fresh," Daryl said. "But we ain't got no sugar. Maybe some in storage."

"Don't bother, brother," Merle said. "Coffee tastes like shit no matter what'cha put in it. Like dirty-ass water."

"Not this coffee," Daryl said. "We got a decent supply right now. We found some seeds an' a couple little half-dead shrub-lings that claim to be different kinds a' coffee at a lil' agricultural tech school we raided lookin' for vet meds. We're tryin' our best at lovin' them things into producin' something for when it all goes to shit an' we run outta what's left to find."

"Even if it's weak ass coffee that tastes like shit," Merle mused. "I'd be sore to lose it for good." He tasted the coffee that Daryl had brewed in the small metal pot. "Shit—this is real coffee, brother."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Told you," he offered.

"Don't even taste like you run the grounds through a filter ten days in a row," Merle said.

"Don't," Daryl said. "Have in the past, but don't right now, at least. Throw the grounds out on the gardens to help the soil."

Sophia sat on the ground, picking her breakfast apart with her fingers, her mouth smeared with strawberry jelly, and ate. She stared at Merle while she did so in the same way that children might have once watched television. She licked her lips and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, but her efforts to clean her face really only added more jelly to the mix since her fingers were coated with it too.

"Soph—you 'member who this is?" Daryl asked.

Sophia looked at Daryl and then stared at Merle again.

"She got some kinda brain trauma?" Merle asked. "Don't remember shit?"

"She's fuckin' three, Merle," Daryl said. "If she's even that. We don't know. Hell—you can't remember everything an' damn near every single thing you come into contact with ain't new to you."

Merle laughed to himself.

"Simmer down, brother," Merle offered. He looked at Sophia. "You know who I am?"

Sophia practically looked bored as she worked on carefully chewing the bite of food that was in her mouth. She swallowed it down, wiped her face again, and picked up another bite of food off her plate.

"Mull," she offered. All that was missing was a dramatic sigh and a shake of her head to go with the tone of her voice.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"That's Uncle Mull, Sophia," Daryl said. "Don't be rude."

Sophia repeated Merle's name—or her variation of it—with the title that belonged to him, properly, more than it really belonged to anyone else that had been given the title. Of course, when Sophia said it, she really declared Daryl's older brother to be something along the lines of Untamull, but she was doing her best.

Merle furrowed his brow at her.

"We'll work on it," he told her.

Sophia looked at him, blinked, and pushed the bite of food into her mouth before she stretched her arm out in Daryl's direction to point at his plate. He knew she wanted the bit of cooked rabbit that was there since she'd finished hers.

"What'cha say?" Daryl asked.

"Please," she slurred, spitting bits of food accidentally.

Daryl passed over the hunk of rabbit, and Sophia started to put it in her mouth.

"Ack!" Daryl barked. "Wait'll you swallow that cake! You gonna choke to death. You 'member what happened the last time you was chokin'? You got scared. Made ya Ma cry. An' I damn near pissed myself. Swallow that down an' you can have all the rabbit you want."

Sophia held the rabbit in her hand instead of resting it on the plate, but she didn't try to put it in her mouth. The choking incident wasn't too distant and it was still somewhat fresh in Daryl's mind. Perhaps it was fresh in Sophia's mind, too. It had been caused by nothing more than an accident. Sophia had simply tried to put too much into her mouth, pushed the food too far back toward her throat, and then she'd neither been able to swallow comfortably nor move the food around to give herself a better option. Daryl didn't know the Heimlich, and apparently nobody there did, but he'd held her upside down against him and dragged the food out with his finger. It had lasted a matter of seconds, but it had felt like his heart had worked overtime for a few hours. They tried to limit how much they offered her at once, now, to keep her working her way through her food slowly.

"She eats a lot," Merle commented. Daryl wasn't entirely sure if it was a statement or a question.

"She's a good eater," Daryl said. "Caused some trouble 'fore we got settled."

"What'cha mean?" Merle asked.

"People bitchin' 'bout her eatin' too damned much like whatever her stomach could hold would be the reason we all starved to death," Daryl said. "Damn near caused Carol to starve to death to try to keep Sophia fed an' everybody else quiet."

Sophia put her plate down on the ground and held her hands out in Daryl's direction.

"Daddy," she said, "help."

He knew what she meant by her request.

"You done?" He asked. He knew she was, but he wanted to check. He was already dipping the cloth he'd brought for this very reason into the cup of water that he'd set aside for washing her up. He used it to wipe her face first and then he mopped her hands clean before he dragged her over to him and accepted that she used his shirt to dry her hands and face before she gave him a cold kiss on the cheek. "Was your breakfast good?" Daryl asked. Sophia hummed and rubbed against him. "Make up for me not bein' here yesterday?" Sophia sat up and eyed him, brow furrowed, and Daryl laughed to himself. "Long as I don't do it again today?" He asked. She accepted that. She must have, because she softened her expression and slipped off his lap.

Merle looked at Sophia as intently as she'd looked at him earlier. It was clear to Daryl that neither of them knew what to do with the other. They would have to work out their relationship for themselves.

"What'cha eat there, kid?" Merle asked.

Sophia picked up her plate and offered it in his direction. On the plate there was half a strawberry jam covered Daddycake and a half chewed on hunk of rabbit. To Sophia, offering it to someone else to eat would seem perfectly normal. In fact, nine times out of ten, Carol's breakfast consisted almost solely of what Sophia had left behind—even if Daryl argued against the practice. It was only very recently that Daryl was actually winning at forcing her to eat something more than Sophia's scraps.

Merle frowned at the heart-felt offering.

"It's good," Sophia said, pushing it in his direction. Daryl laughed to himself.

"Soph—sometimes people don't want your slobbered on bits," Daryl said. He served another of the Daddycakes onto a clean plate and traded out Sophia's plate for the fresh plate. Then he put a hunk of the rabbit on the plate that neither he nor Sophia had chewed on previously. "Here. Give 'im this one."

Sophia walked to stand straight in front of Merle. She held the plate out to him.

"It's good," she repeated from earlier. "You gon' like it," she added, clearly remembering what Daryl told her almost any time he was trying to convince her to try something new that she was skeptical about eating.

"Yeah—thanks," Merle said. He took the plate from Sophia and examined it. "What the hell is it, brother? Some kinda hoecake?"

"It's a Daddycake," Sophia answered for Daryl. "Go on. Go on now. It's good. You gon' like it. Go on now."

Daryl nearly chewed a hole in the side of his cheek to keep from laughing. Sophia wouldn't understand why he thought it was funny. She was being sincere. She was doing her best to feed her new uncle, and she was doing it the only way she knew how—the way that Daryl had taught her new food needed to be introduced.

"She serious?" Merle asked, looking at Daryl.

"Daddycakes is a specialty around here," Daryl said. "Come up with 'em on the road. Like a hoecake. Gritcake. Pancake. But not a damn thing like any of 'em." He laughed to himself. "Come outta tryin' to stretch what supplies we had. Makin' these cakes made ingredients go farther. Easier to carry around, too, than a big ole bowl of somethin' when we packin' food to carry with us. If they sit up, they ain't as nasty as some shit, either. Make 'em with damn near whatever we got. Cornmeal for dinner. But these is mostly oatmeal for breakfast. They good if you got somethin' to put on 'em. Soph—you share a lil' of your jam with your Uncle Merle?"

Sophia nodded and reached for the jam. Daryl kept his hand on the jar while he let her pretend that she was the one manipulating it and moving it around. She served it to Merle and he eyed her suspiciously as he slathered some of the red jam onto the Daddycake he'd been served.

At least he thanked her, though, and she looked pleased with that. Daryl wiped her hands for her again when she put the jar down and, discovering they were sticky, held them out to him with her fingers splayed.

"It ain't bad," Merle said after he'd bitten it.

"It's good," Sophia assured him.

"They one of Soph's favorite things," Daryl said. "Soothes over bad feelin's in the morning. Soph—why don't'cha go see if we don't got us no eggs?"

Sophia nodded her head at Daryl and darted off across the yard without another word.

"The chickens gonna peck her," Merle pointed out.

"It don't bother her," Daryl said. "But she's pretty good at slippin' in the coops an' slippin' out. They don't bother her as much as they do some of us. Besides—huntin' eggs is one of her favorite things."

"She don't break 'em?" Merle asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Keep her busy all morning," he said. "She'll bring 'em to you one at the time. You see that basket right there? If them hens is layin' good, she'll fill the whole thing up. Haulin' 'em up here from the coop one at the time. I mean—hell, she's dropped a couple an' they got broke, but she don't break no more than anybody else would just havin' an accident every now and again."

"Where's your mouse?" Merle asked.

"She's got a name, Merle," Daryl said.

Merle laughed to himself.

"I reckon I know that," Merle said. "But I'ma still call her Mouse. Carol—if it makes you happy. Where the hell is she?"

"Asleep," Daryl said. "Or I hope she is. Same as everybody else. She don't hardly get rest in the morning."

"So she just sleeps an' leaves you out here to—to cook the breakfast an' babysit?" Merle laughed to himself and Daryl felt warmth bubble up inside his body. His cheeks ran warm.

"It ain't babysittin'," Daryl said.

"What you call it?" Merle asked. He let his eyes trail over to where Sophia was coming, practically trotting, with one solitary egg in her hand.

"Here, Daddy! Here!" She called out as she approached.

Daryl reached out his hand and accepted the egg.

"That's a nice one you found!" Daryl said, praising the egg with as much enthusiasm as he ever would. Sophia didn't need to know that his brother irritated him. "Bring me that basket, Soph. That one. The wicker one. Soph—there ain't but one basket over there. That's it. Thank you."

Sophia happily brought him the basket and Daryl gently placed the egg in it. It would be there for when the rest of breakfast needed to be prepared to feed the members of their little family.

"It's real big, Daddy!" Sophia declared.

"From them fat-worm eatin' chickens," Daryl agreed. "You got more or that was it?"

"There's more, Daddy. So much more!"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Go get 'em for me. Bring 'em here."

Sophia nodded her head and brushed her hair out of her face before she turned and trotted back toward the coops. Daryl looked at his brother, took out a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it.

"It ain't babysitting," Daryl said. "It's bein' Sophia's old man. And I'm a good Daddy, Merle. You ask Carol. Hell—you ask Soph. I do alright. Doin' the best I can to be the kind of Daddy she deserves."

"You ain't her old man, though, lil' brother. That kid was put in her Ma's gut by some asshole you left dead somewhere."

"You ever say that so she can hear you," Daryl warned, "and I'll bust your nose for you, brother."

Merle laughed.

"It's the truth, brother," Merle said. "She's gonna know it someday."

"Someday she is," Daryl said. "But that'll be one day when she can understand that it don't mean nothin'. Right now all the hell she knows is that I'm Daddy. Been there for her since she can remember. Gonna be there for her long as there's breath left in my worthless ass body. That's all the hell she needs to know. The rest don't matter no way."

"I'm sorry, brother," Merle said. "Ain't meant to—piss ya off."

Daryl shook his head.

"I ain't," he said. "Just—don't hurt my kid, Merle. 'Cause—she might not be my kid but...I love her."

Merle nodded his head.

"Understand," he said. He cleared his throat. He ate a moment and Daryl smoked his cigarette. Finally Merle spoke again. "You like this? Gettin' saddled with this kid an' all?"

Daryl laughed to himself. Merle didn't fully understand it all, but eventually he would.

"Yeah," Daryl assured him. "One of the best damn things that ever happened to me. Hell—second only, maybe, to meetin' the woman that made me a damn Daddy to start with. Kind of a chicken an' the egg, thing."

"I bet it is, brother," Merle mused. He tore a large chunk off his piece of rabbit and worked on chewing through it. He didn't bother to swallow the whole thing down before he finished speaking. "I bet it is."


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Merle couldn't say that everyone in the prison was hard to find—because there certainly a few that he felt like barely moved from one spot where they were practically planted—but Daryl's chosen woman wasn't one of the people who could be counted on to sit still. She scurried here and there, always seeming to be on the move from one task to another.

Merle finally cornered her when she was folding things from a line where she hung their clothes and such to dry in the sun.

"Can I talk to you, Mouse?" Merle called out as he approached her. He remembered how skittish she'd been back at the rock quarry—and with good reason from what he recalled—so he didn't want to startle her too badly by walking up behind her without any kind of announcement of his presence.

She didn't jump at all, though. She simply paused for a moment in her work to look at him and smile. Then she returned to what she was doing—the small gesture being all that she intended to offer him as a proof that she was listening to him.

"What do you need, Merle?" Carol asked.

"Need to talk to you," Merle said. "Man to man or—man to mouse, as the situation calls for it."

Carol laughed quietly to herself.

"I'm listening," she said. "But I want to get these folded. So this is the most attention I have to give you right now. I've got a toddler, though, so I'm pretty good at multitasking."

"I don't need no more of your attention than I got," Merle assured her. He helped himself to one of his cigarettes. He'd learned how to use the lighter left-handed—though it had been no small feat to learn that—so he was quick to light it and return the lighter to his pocket, along with the cigarettes. Carol glanced at him to watch what he was doing. "I'd offer you one," Merle said. "But if you set to have a kid—they say that shit's bad for 'em."

Carol laughed to herself again. She glanced over her shoulder at Merle again, stealing her attention away, once more, from the laundry.

"I'll pass this time," she said.

"So you really set to have a kid?" Merle asked. "You don't look knocked up."

Carol hummed to herself.

"I guess I will," she said. "In time. Still—I feel like I can tell it. Maybe it's just what I'm wearing."

Merle hummed to himself.

"You look hungry to me—not pregnant," Merle mused. "Bony. Don't you eat? You s'posed to be eatin' a good bit."

"I'm eating more than I used to," Carol offered. "Did you come all the way over here to watch me fold laundry and lecture me about my diet, Merle, or was there something I could help you with?"

Merle laughed to himself. He scratched at his face.

"You ain't the same as you was—back at the rock quarry," Merle mused.

"I'd be a little afraid to ask how you thought I was," Carol said.

"Well—like a mouse, Mouse," Merle said. "Scurryin' around. Jumpin' every time you so much as heard someone cough. Actin' like you scared of your shadow."

"It wasn't my shadow I was afraid of, Merle," Carol said.

"You kill him?" Merle asked.

"What?" Carol asked.

"Your old man," Merle said. "You kill him? Back in Atlanta? You can tell me, Mouse. Ain't like I'ma turn you in. One killer to the next."

"I didn't kill him," Carol said. "I thought about it. I wanted to. Some days I've regretted that I didn't. But I didn't kill my husband."

Merle nodded.

"Did Daryl kill him?" Merle asked. "You put a bug in his ear about...how if he'd kill him you'd make it—make it worth his while? Give him a lil' somethin' if he'd do what'cha couldn't—or didn't wanna do?"

A bubble of laugher slipped out of Carol's throat.

"I didn't do that either," she said. "Although...maybe I should have. Daryl didn't kill my husband. If you have to know what happened—Ed hit me."

"Forgive me for sayin' it," Merle said. "'Cause I know you gonna call me an asshole, but from where I was standin' he done that a lot."

Carol's smile fell. She didn't look angry, though, as much as she simply looked introspective.

"He did hit me a lot," she said. "An awful lot. Nearly every day. But that day—he hit me in front of Shane and Shane was...I guess he was upset. Probably not at Ed, but Ed gave him a target."

"Was Shane that killed your husband?" Merle asked.

"I'm certain that you weren't ever a detective in a past life, Merle," Carol said. "Shane didn't kill my husband. He beat him up. Terribly. Ed went to the tent. He stayed there all night. I was away from the tent having supper and—the Walkers hit the camp. It was the Walkers that killed my husband. Daryl dragged his body out when we were cleaning the camp—what was left of it—and I put him down. I don't know who threw him in the hole. I didn't go."

"Kinda cold, Mouse," Merle said. "Not payin' your last respects when your husband gets throwed in the ground."

"Ed got the last of the respect that I had for him when he hit me in the mouth the day that I brought home our newborn daughter," Carol said. "I didn't have much left then, but anything I had left..."

Merle felt his stomach twist. He'd seen it. He'd seen what their mother had gone through. He'd seen her do her best to hold it together for them. She wanted to appear like she was made of stone. Like he couldn't hurt her. She fought for them more than she fought for herself.

In the end, though, the old man was too strong for her. The alcohol she used to numb the pain was too strong for her.

In the end, the bad always seemed to win out over the good.

Merle forced himself to think about other things and he swallowed.

"He ain't had no right, Mouse," Merle said. "Just—want'cha to know that. He ain't had no right."

"Are we talking about—my ex-husband?" Carol asked.

"Anybody," Merle said. "Really. There's other ways to be mad."

Carol laughed again. She stopped her folding. She ran her hands through her hair. It was longer than it had been at the rock quarry. It didn't take much, really, for it to be longer than it had been back then. She'd almost had herself shaved bald when Merle first met her. Now her hair was still short, but it was long enough that it was starting to curl. It was starting to turn out in this direction and the next. The little bit of length to her hair softened her features.

She wasn't bad looking at all. He could see how she got the attention of his brother.

Thanking about Daryl reminded him of why it was that he'd gone all around the prison trying to catch the woman in a place where he could talk to her. There were people around them—milling back and forth occasionally with one task or another—but Merle felt like nobody was really paying them any attention.

He'd wanted just a little privacy to talk with her.

"You married to my little brother?" Merle asked.

"As married as we can be," Carol said. "I suppose. He'd like a ceremony and we're going to do that as soon as Glenn and Maggie have had theirs."

"You don't want no ceremony?" Merle asked.

Carol continued to work at the laundry, but soon she'd come to the end of it. Soon she'd be giving Merle her undivided attention simply because she'd run out of clothes to occupy her hands. For a moment she paused in her work before returning to it. She shrugged her shoulders at him.

"It doesn't matter to me," Carol said. "I've had the ceremony. The veil. The white dress. The diamond and the wedding band. And I've had the emergency room visits and the apology roses. I've had the—busted lips and the black eyes and the fractures. I know that it's the—it's the devotion that matters. It's the love that matters. Not the vows said in front of people. Not the ceremony. I'm happy with Daryl as things are. The ceremony doesn't matter to me. But if that's what he wants—then that's what I want him to have."

"Noble of ya," Merle said. "Let him have somethin' even though you don't believe in it."

Carol raised her eyebrows at him.

"I love Daryl, Merle," Carol said. "I believe in marriage. I believe in commitment. I believe that—it's important for two people who pledge to love each other forever to do that. But I don't believe that a ceremony is what makes that happen. I believe that people are either going to keep the promises they make to one another, or they aren't. But I love Daryl—and he's never had the ceremony. So I want him to have it if it will make him happy. Because I also believe that marriage is about doing what you can to make the person you love as happy as you can possibly make them."

"He make you happy?" Merle asked.

Carol smiled sincerely. She nodded her head.

"He does," she said. "Very happy. The happiest I've ever been before."

"You happy you havin' a kid?" Merle asked.

"I am," Carol said. "I'm a little bit nervous because—well just because I think that's normal. But I'm happy. I honestly thought Sophia would be the only child I ever had. But—now that I'm expecting this baby, I'm happy for it."

"Weren't planned," Merle said.

"Is that a question or a statement, Merle?" Carol asked.

"Whatever you want it to be," Merle responded.

"It wasn't planned," Carol said. "No. Not in the—I guess not in the traditional sense of the word. We weren't doing anything to prevent it, but we didn't exactly plan it."

"I'ma ask you somethin' straight out," Merle said, "and I want a straight answer from you, Mouse."

"I haven't given you anything else, Merle," Carol said.

Merle almost laughed to himself. He wasn't exactly trying to intimidate her, but he expected her to be at least a little intimidated. After all, the woman he'd met at the rock quarry had been intimidated by everything.

"That my brother's kid?" Merle asked.

"Well it's certainly not yours, Merle," Carol said.

Merle snorted. The laughter escaped him before he could get it under control, but he kept anything else from getting out.

"I'll give you that, but it ain't what I asked. Handful of men around here. I'm sure this ain't all y'all crossed paths with. I know how people come an' they go these days. I'm just askin' you for a straight answer—you sure that's my brother's kid you got in your gut?"

"I haven't been with another man since my husband died," Carol said. "And it would be an awful long time for—for this to be something left behind that's just showing up."

"I said I wanted a straight answer," Merle said.

"I can't get any straighter, Merle," Carol said. "This baby is Daryl's."

"I know how women can be," Merle said.

"Do you?" Carol asked.

"Woman finds herself in trouble. Starts lookin' for someone to help her out. Help carry the burden of what she done. Finds herself some poor sucker. Some asshole real quick that she can lay down with. Yeah—then she says the kid she's carryin' is his. Even though it ain't. I don't believe that shit. Wouldn't let no woman trap my ass with a kid. But Daryl? You already knowed it. He's the sweet one. He'd fall for anything like that. Find himself wrapped up in somethin' that ain't got shit to do with him. Find himself raisin' somebody else's kid."

As soon as he said it, Merle regretted the words. He'd thought them out. He'd turned them over in his head. He'd worked through what he wanted to say more than once. He didn't want anyone taking advantage of Daryl. He didn't want anyone using Daryl. He didn't want this woman to use Daryl—wring him out like a wet rag—to take care of her and her kids and then, when she didn't need him anymore, to leave him balled up and discarded on the floor.

That was what he meant, but that wasn't how it had come out at all and it was too late to take it back. Besides, Merle wasn't that good at taking things back. It wasn't a practice he commonly had.

Carol made a face. Merle couldn't quite say it was a smile. It was something else.

"He doesn't seem to mind that, either, Merle," Carol said. Her voice was different. It was softer. "It doesn't seem to matter to Daryl. But I can see it matters to you. So—I'll tell you that I'm not trying to trap your brother. I've never tried to trap him. I've—welcomed him into my heart. My arms. My life, Merle. That has meant that—he's raising somebody else's kid. But that was his choice. I never forced him into it, Merle. And—he's never held that against me or her. I feel like if, somehow, this baby belonged to somebody else? It wouldn't stop him from—from asking me every morning if I can feel it moving yet because he's so—so—so excited that it's—that it's just growing. But—I can see it matters to you. So I'll tell you. This is, biologically, Daryl's child. Created in the only way that I know how to have babies with anyone and—before you ask, because I know it matters to you, too—he enjoyed it." She smiled to herself. "I did too, if that matters to you at all."

"I didn't mean it like it come out, Mouse," Merle said.

"I accept your apology, Merle," Carol said.

"I don't want nobody hurtin' my brother," Merle said.

"Then you and I have something in common," Carol said. "And that's why I don't want you trying to plant ideas in his head that this might not be his baby or that Sophia is any less important to him because Ed was her father. He's happy, Merle. With everything just the way it is. He's happy. And if you..."

She broke off.

"What?" Merle pressed.

"If you do anything to fuck with Daryl?" Carol said, lowering her voice and stepping closer to Merle. "If you do anything to take that happiness away, on purpose, because you've got some kind of insecurity? I'll cut your throat in your sleep, Merle."

Merle laughed to himself, but his gut twisted up. She was smiling at him, but he could see in her eyes that this was no laughing matter to her.

She was absolutely serious.

"You ain't the same woman you was at the rock quarry," Merle said.

"You have no idea," Carol said.

"All 'cause you got you a new man?" Merle asked.

"All because I've got a family," Carol said. "A happy family. And part of that—is that I've got a man who loves me. And I love him. He does whatever he can to keep me happy and—I'll do the same for him."

"Even if it means killin' a man?" Merle asked.

"If that's what it takes to protect him," Carol said.

Merle laughed to himself.

"Then we got an understandin', Mouse. A mutual concern. And you got my respect. See that'cha don't lose it," Merle said.

Carol smiled at him.

"See that you don't lose mine either, Merle," Carol said. "Grab that basket, would you? Andrea was supposed to be coming to get it—but she hasn't come back yet."

"I look like I do laundry?" Merle asked. He didn't fight her, though. Instead, he simply heaved up the basket and followed behind her back to the prison.


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Ed had taught Carol that sulking was a bad thing. It was a terrible thing.

Sulking, when Ed was the one who had something to sulk about, meant that it was only a matter of time before he tried to make himself feel better by making Carol feel as badly as he possibly could.

Daryl had taught Carol—in so many ways—not to take Ed as any sort of authority on the ways of men.

Although she hated to see him suffer in any capacity, the minor suffering that usually brought on a little sulking wasn't anything terrible because, for Daryl, sulking usually led to good things. Whereas Ed's sulking made him feel vulnerable—and his vulnerability made him want to attack Carol—Daryl's sulking brought on a vulnerability that made him seek comfort in Carol's arms.

And Carol was always more than happy to help love away any discomfort that Daryl might feel as long as such an action was within the realm of her ability—and Daryl had shown her that, usually, it was.

Carol was kissing his shoulders, wrapped around him from behind, when Daryl pulled away from her and got to his feet to take the roughly two steps that it took him to cross their cell. Carol sat back on her heels and watched him.

Even if nobody else in the world ever saw what she saw, she thought he was glorious. He was perfect in every way. She liked admiring him as much as she liked making love to him, but he hadn't always liked to let her see him as openly as he did no, moving around their cell.

"Where are you going?" Carol asked. "Are you done?"

"Water," Daryl said. He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher of clean water that Carol had brought in that evening. He drank down half the glass before he refilled it. "Fuckin' dehydrated."

Carol laughed to herself. She thanked him when Daryl walked back to the bed and offered her the glass to drink her fill of the water.

"Are you done?" Carol asked, handing him back the glass.

"Hell no I'm not done," Daryl said, some growl coming out with the words. "But you know what really pisses me off?"

"Hmmm?" Carol hummed, relieved that she could talk to Daryl about things that pissed him off—even if it was her that pissed him off—without concern.

"You said that shit would stop," Daryl said.

"I said it was normal," Carol said.

Daryl put the glass down again and returned to the bed. This time he crawled onto the bed and Carol backed up to give him enough room before he caught her in his arms and kissed her. As soon as he broke the kiss, he clearly thought better of it, so he pulled away from her only to come back for more.

Carol laughed to herself when he separated from her the second time.

"You said it would stop," Daryl said. "You said it was one of them things that I oughta expect because—'cause it was new. And I was...ya know."

"Excited," Carol offered.

"But you lied," Daryl said. "'Cause it ain't fuckin' stopped."

"OK—but you act like it's a bad thing," Carol said. She reached forward and caught his face in her hands. She held it so that he would look at her. She kissed his lips again, this time more tenderly than he'd kissed her before.

"It's embarrassing," Daryl said.

"Why?" Carol asked. "Nobody knows but us. I would never tell someone something that embarrassed you."

"It's embarrassing that I'm a full-grown man and I damn near can't get through foreplay 'fore I fuckin' blow my load," Daryl said. "There ain't no damn way you can paint that so it ain't somethin' to be ashamed of."

Daryl frowned at her and she kissed him again to wipe away the frown. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows at him.

"I can think of about a dozen ways to present it so that it's nothing to be embarrassed about," Carol said. "First of all, Daryl, most men don't like foreplay the way that you do."

"Shut up," Daryl offered. It was his way of saying he didn't believe her. In the dim light of the lamp, she could see his cheeks were pink. This was something that had bothered him before, but it suddenly bothered him a great deal more now. That much was evident. Carol wasn't sure why, either, that he would suddenly be so bothered by something that she'd promised to keep between them—always—except for the fact that someone had arrived at the prison which Daryl might fear would give him a hard time for this.

"Daryl, you treat foreplay like it's the main event," Carol said. "You enjoy it. You take your time with it. You savor every bit of it. Most men don't do that. Now, from a woman's perspective? It's an absolutely amazing thing that you enjoy it the way you do. It means that I get to come—sometimes four or five times before you even think that it's time to get started. If every man waited that long, they probably wouldn't make it either. That's why what you consider to be a quickie is what most people consider to be just—well, just normal."

"So I been doin' it wrong all this time and you just didn't bother to tell me?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I think you're doing it very right," Carol said. "Didn't you think we were doing it right?" Daryl shrugged his shoulders. The clear look of pouting came back across his features. Carol caught his hand in hers, kissed his fingers, and then she moved his had to press it to her belly—a belly which he admired a great deal even though she felt like she looked like she had simply enjoyed a few too many large meals in the past few days. "We have to be doing it right. Otherwise, I don't think this would have happened."

At the mere suggestion of it, Daryl leaned forward and pressed his lips to Carol's. She kept the kiss going. It wouldn't be long before his sulking was done simply because his body would have found the energy and reserves to renew his ability to follow through with his interest in love-making.

She slipped her hand around to the back of his neck and tickled the skin there. She felt him shiver. Her other hand, wrapped around the upper part of his arm, felt his skin prickle with goosebumps. She smiled against his lips before she kissed him again and then pulled away to smile at his heavy-lidded eyes. His interest was returning with a vengeance.

"Besides—I would never consider it a bad thing that my..." Carol hesitated. She hadn't tasted the word before in a situation like this, but she decided to try it. "That my husband would find me so—desirable—that he would lose control of himself. And that his desire wouldn't die. He wouldn't simply begin to find me boring. He would keep finding me just as irresistible as he did the first night in a tent on a little farm."

"I ain't," Daryl breathed out. He bit Carol's lip hard when he came in for the kiss, but she forgave him. She knew that he didn't mean to hurt her. He was simply hungry, and she appreciated that he had a certain hunger for her that never quite seemed to be satiated.

He didn't understand, but it made her feel like the most desirable woman left in the world, and that was something she never would have believed herself capable of feeling. Before Daryl, she would have known that feeling anywhere near that confident would have gotten her a lecture, at the very least, and something far worse most of the time.

"You aren't what?" Carol asked.

"Your husband," Daryl said. "Or you forgot we ain't married? Gotta wait for Glenn and Maggie. I told him, though, today, that he's gotta get her goin' or we goin' first 'cause we don't wanna wait forever."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Vows or no vows," Carol said, "you're as much my husband right now—just like this—as you'll ever be. I promise you that the vows don't make that much of a difference. If you want to be my husband now, even while we wait, then that's what you are."

"I want everybody else to know it, too," Daryl said.

"I've got a pretty good idea that they already do," Carol said. "They know how happy we are. How happy you make me. They know—Sophia has a Mommy and a Daddy. They know we have a little one on the way that makes us both pretty happy. I think they can figure out that we're just about as married as we can be."

"Still, I want 'em to see it," Daryl said.

"They will," Carol said. "Just as soon as Glenn and Maggie get married. And with this Governor situation out of the way, that could be any day."

"Over breakfast this mornin'," Daryl said, "Merle—he ain't said it right out, but I got the feelin' that he thought you might not really wanna marry me. Like—you might not—really wanna do it."

Carol laughed to herself.

"And I talked to him around lunchtime," Carol said. "I think he and I reached an understanding."

"An understandin'?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded. "He ain't done nothin' to hurt you, did he? Like he didn't say no asshole shit?"

Carol smiled.

"Just you saying that makes me wonder why it is that you'll let him say some—some asshole shit to you, Daryl, as you say. Something like—I might not really want to marry you. Something to upset you. And you'll let him say it, but as soon as you think he's said something to me, you look like you want to put your pants on and go demand an explanation."

"I don't want him bein' an asshole to you," Daryl said.

"And I don't want him being an asshole to you," Carol offered. "But he didn't hurt me. Not in any way—I'm just mad that he hurt you."

"He ain't hurt me," Daryl said.

Carol rubbed his face, stroking his cheek affectionately with her knuckles. He closed his eyes a second. His features softened a little and he clearly relaxed just a bit.

"Were you honestly worried that I didn't want to marry you?" Carol asked. "Because—that's new." Daryl hummed at her. It was noncommittal. "He asked me if this was your baby. Of course it is," she added quickly. "But I wanted to make sure he didn't plant some kind of idea in your head."

"Wanted to say Soph weren't mine," Daryl said. "Told him she was. But—he weren't wrong, Carol."

"He was wrong," Carol assured him. "Biologically, Sophia's father is Ed. But that doesn't matter. It was—a different life for me. And he was her father, but he was never anything more. He never wanted to be anything more. But you're her Daddy, Daryl, and nothing will ever change that. She will never, ever think any less of you than to think that you're her Daddy. The man who..." She broke off and laughed to herself. She ran her fingers through his hair and he closed his eyes to the affection again. "The man who chases away the bad dreams and lets her play with the rabbits and gives her a bath so she can splash in the water longer than I could let her when I've got work to do...and the man who would have fought Rick Grimes if he'd tried to take any of her special stuffed animals off a truck."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"They was a half dozen more left," Daryl said. "It ain't like I was deprivin' his kid of no stuffed animals."

"My point is that you're Sophia's Daddy. If you don't believe me, then you just ask her who her Daddy is and she'll tell you," Carol said. "But she'll probably laugh at you, too, and call you silly for even asking such a ridiculous question. Something that's so ridiculous that—that a three year old knows it's ridiculous."

"I know," Daryl admitted.

"Is he the one who has you upset about—tonight?" Carol asked. "Because it's never been a problem for either one of us to know that round one is almost always followed by round two."

"He'd gimme hell if he knew about it," Daryl said.

"Then we won't tell him," Carol said.

"He'd give me hell if he knew that you were...that I didn't have a lot of experience."

Carol swallowed down her smile. She didn't think it was funny that she was Daryl's first experience with sex. Rather she thought it was nice that he'd come to her without knowing anything, and he'd admitted to her that he'd always been scared of having sex. It wasn't that he thought he wouldn't be good at it, or that he thought he wouldn't like it, but he worried that he would like it. And he worried that if he did like it, and if he did it with someone he liked, they might simply leave him. And, somehow, the sex would make the loss hurt more.

He worried that he would like it—that he would like that person—but they would just be gone.

Daryl feared losing that which he cared about more than he feared just about anything in the world. It had led him to believe it was better to do without than it was to risk losing.

Carol had assured him that loss, though a painful part of life, at least wouldn't be voluntary with her. She wouldn't leave him on purpose.

Carol had told him, with no lack of insecurity on her part, that Ed had assured her that she wasn't very good at sex. She was barely good enough to get by. She still remembered how sincerely Daryl had laughed at that when he'd promised her that it wouldn't matter to him. She'd be the best he'd ever had.

Carol could sincerely promise Daryl that he was the best she'd ever had. He was an attentive lover. He loved exploring with her. He took his time and he enjoyed every part of their lovemaking experiences together. Maybe he wasn't as experienced as some men may be, but Carol wouldn't trade his enthusiasm for being with her for their experience for anything in the world.

"You've got tons of experience," Carol said. "And you get more every day. Merle doesn't have to know that you've got all the experience you've gotten with me. Not if you don't want him to know. But, no matter what he says, I can promise you that he's not any more talented than you are, Daryl. He doesn't know anything more about sex than you do. Because—I'm more than satisfied. And we've got a baby on the way to prove that we must be doing something right."

Daryl smiled at her and she kissed him. She nipped his bottom lip and he playfully responded in kind.

Carol shook her head at Daryl when they broke apart. "Merle's your brother, and I know you love him, but know that I love you. I don't know what Merle's seen in life that's made him the way he is but...I'm not going to appreciate him coming in here and hurting you any more than you would appreciate him coming in here and hurting me. I'm sorry I didn't get to him before he said anything—anything at all to you—but I told him as much at lunchtime. I'm not going to tolerate it."

Daryl cocked an eyebrow at her and smirked.

"You sound kinda—protective," Daryl said.

"I am," Carol assured him. "Is that—bad?"

"Kinda hot," Daryl said with a laugh.

Carol slipped her hand down and wrapped her fingers around him. He was starting to wake up. His interest was piqued. Carol stroked him to draw his attention a bit more.

"Hot enough for round two?" She asked.

"Why we gotta stop there?" Daryl asked with a smirk.

"Because one of our children will have you up before dawn," Carol offered. "And the other will have me up before dawn."

Daryl laughed and kissed her. He moaned at her when she stroked him again and she let go of him as he changed his position to rest his back against the wall in their cell. He tugged at her hand to invite her to come over to him and take her position above him.

"In that case," he said, "come here, woman. We better get goin'."


	29. Chapter 29

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"You helpin'?" Daryl asked. "You got it? You got your side?"

Sophia grunted at him and he stifled a laugh.

"'Cause I don't think I'ma be able to get it, Soph—if you ain't pullin' your weight. You got it?"

"I got it, Daddy," Sophia finally declared.

In reality, she was supporting next to nothing of the bucket's weight. In order for the bucket not to drag the ground, Daryl had to hold it up to a height that required Sophia to hold her arm well above her head. It would have been impossible for most people—no matter their strength—to carry something that was such a large percentage of their body weight in such an awkward position for any length of time.

But, holding onto the water bucket's handle and keeping pace with Daryl, Sophia believed she was helping to carry the bucket and that was really all that mattered at the end of the day.

The natural underground wells fed the creeks and streams in the area. Many of them ran close to the prison and were easy to reach once they'd been located and paths to them had been cleared. They'd made their own well system that allowed them to pump water inside the fences though, from time to time, they had to spend some time cleaning out the lines.

If they had a little help with plumbing, and if they had some help with restoring electricity, they could easily supply their makeshift family with running water. Running water and electricity wouldn't take away all of their problems, but they would certainly go a long way toward simplifying their lives.

They were supposed to be meeting with some of the people from Woodbury about possibly gaining some help with such endeavors in exchange for some of the things that they could help them accomplish, but they were waiting for the citizens of Woodbury to tell them that they were ready to talk about things. Woodbury was abruptly without its leader, and it had some major regrouping to do while it worked out how things would move forward in the little city. When everything was in order, those who chose to come already had a standing invitation to visit the prison.

For the time being, they would keep going as they had been going. It might not be the easiest way they could do things, but it still got things done.

Daryl liked the idea, as well, of his children learning to do things in the most old-fashioned ways possible. At least that knowledge would mean that they would be prepared to handle the world if something should take away their modern luxuries, and they wouldn't suffer as much as some seemed to have suffered with the way that the world had changed in the past several years.

"You really gotta help me," Daryl said. "Your Ma ain't gonna be happy at all if I drop her washin' water all over the ground."

Sophia laughed to herself as she walked along, several times nearly stumbling over her own feet, and held to the bucket handle as though she were really doing the majority if the heavy lifting.

"I help you, Daddy!" She declared, teeth shining at him as she flashed him a toothy grin.

Daryl liked that confidence. He liked building that confidence up in her. He knew that she wasn't carrying the majority of the weight, and he knew that he was fully capable of carrying the bucket all the way to where Carol was waiting without her assistance, but she didn't know that. She believed that she was being helpful and, not just that, she believed that her help was indispensable. Daryl wanted her to believe those things about herself. He wanted her to believe all good things about herself.

He and Carol, both, knew what it was to believe bad things about yourself, and they wanted more for their children. They wanted to teach them how they deserved to be treated so that nobody else could ever convince them otherwise. 

"You look like you strugglin' there, brother!" Merle called out, coming down the hill that Daryl and Sophia were headed up.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Let's put this down a minute, Soph," Daryl said.

Sophia let him lower the bucket to rest on the ground between them, but she didn't let go of it in case he might need her help to make sure that it didn't somehow topple and roll backward down the hill.

"Bucket's heavy, Merle," Daryl said as Merle reached them. "You know how it is. Gettin' Soph here to help me get it up the hill for the next time Carol needs some more water for the washin' up."

"That right?" Merle mused. He hummed and eyed the small girl that was looking up at him and offering him a clear view of all the teeth that she'd grown in her few years of life. "You help carry that big ole bucket?"

"Mmmm hmmmm," Sophia hummed. "I help! It's water!"

Merle laughed to himself.

"Damn sure is," Merle said. "You need me to give you a hand with it, brother?"

"I think me an' Sophia got it," Daryl said. "Unless—you come down here for somethin' else."

"Just to bounce a couple ideas off you," Merle said. "Talk to you a minute."

"Come with us to get rid of this water an' I'm all ears," Daryl said.

"Would be a lil' faster if—I was to help you, Daryl," Merle mused.

Daryl smiled at him.

"But it wouldn't be half as fun, Merle," Daryl said with a wink.

Merle didn't look like he was too sure about what Daryl said, but he humored him and followed Daryl as he and Sophia made their way up the hill with the bucket. Carol wasn't in desperate need for the water since she still had a few buckets left to empty, but she thanked Daryl with a kiss just the same and she gave Sophia an enthusiastic hug and kiss to thank her for her efforts.

As they started back down the hill so that Daryl and Merle could talk about whatever was on Merle's mind, Sophia ran after them and practically weaved between their legs.

Daryl didn't say anything when she did her best to convince her Uncle Merle—whose name was just as garbled as most of the things that she tried to say—to pick her up. He did smile to himself, though, when Merle finally gave in and heaved her up.

Daryl noticed her staring at the metal cuff that covered the lower part of Merle's arm—the one which had missing the hand he'd removed with a hacksaw in Atlanta to free himself from Rick's handcuffs—but Merle didn't notice Sophia's staring and Sophia wasn't ready to ask what had happened. Eventually, Daryl knew, Sophia would quiz Merle on the injury. Daryl would let Merle handle his own story, but he hoped that he had the ability to do so without hurting the little girl's feelings in any way. Her curiosity, after all, was just that. She was the least judgmental creature in the world.

"They gonna want help with crops in Woodbury," Merle said. "They ain't hardly growin' shit there. Relyin' on what they can scavenge only."

"That works for a while," Daryl said. "But sooner or later…"

"Sooner or later it all runs out," Merle said. "They already learnin' that. Goin' further an' further out to find shit. The Governor put on a big show like we weren't runnin' outta damn near everything 'cause he ain't wanted nobody to panic, but things was rough. Once the cans run out, there's a good chance they won't see much in the way of fruits and vegetables. You got a good thing goin' here, though."

"I like fruit," Sophia announced, picking up on what she found interesting from their conversation.

"You do, huh?" Merle asked.

"Mmmm hmmm," Sophia said. "I like—red berries an' blueberries an' black berries."

"Soph'll eat any kinda fruit you give her," Daryl said. "But we got some berry bushes not far from here an' when they makin' berries, she'll 'bout eat 'em dry on her own. We've transplanted some. Hard to say yet if they gonna really take inside the fences. Blackberries oughta since they damn near scrub anyway."

"Woodbury ain't gonna have nothin' but berry bushes to live off of if they don't get 'em some kinda system like you got here," Merle mused.

"Hope to have good, reliable greenhouses by the time next spring rolls around," Daryl said. "Lookin' for some plans or somethin' somewhere, though. Maybe we find a library or—or something. We wanna do it right."

"Got a carpenter there," Merle said. "Don't know him too personally, but he's supposed to be someone's done some building before all this started. Maybe he knows somethin'. Got people that know about solar panels. Got the water runnin' in Woodbury. Damn near wouldn't realize that there was any kinda crazy shit happenin' outside of the walls if you weren't one of us that was in on the secret that the place is runnin' dry 'cause they can't find enough of what they need to keep livin' the way they livin'."

"Sounds like they need to learn about rationing while they learnin' about growin' their own food," Daryl said. "You hunt for 'em?"

Merle hummed in the negative and shook his head.

"My Daddy hunts!" Sophia announced quickly. She squirmed around and Daryl saw Merle adjust his hold to be sure that he didn't drop her. She might have felt the shift in position, because she wrapped her arms around his neck to secure herself.

"He a good hunter?" Merle asked. He winked at Daryl and laughed to himself.

"Him gets—him brings home the biggest foods," Sophia offered. Merle snorted in response.

"He tell you to say that?" Merle asked.

Sophia looked to Daryl like she wasn't sure how to respond and he shook his head. She looked back at Merle and shook her head.

"You hunt?" Merle asked.

"I'm too little," Sophia pointed out.

Merle laughed heartily, then.

"Yeah—kickback on a rifle would lay you out an' it'd take a bit to get a bow cut down to size for you. One day—maybe your Uncle Merle can show you how to hunt. Better'n your ole man, here."

Sophia frowned at him, but she didn't fully understand what he was saying. Daryl was sure of that. If she'd understood the implications of everything he was saying, she'd be equal parts excited about hunting and argumentative about his questioning Daryl's abilities to be the best at everything. Because she couldn't fully understand him, she chose not to respond to him. Merle took her silence as an opportunity to move on with what was on his mind.

"Governor had me huntin' other things," Merle said. "You understand. Didn't have time for me to go runnin' after somethin' like food when he thought they was more important things to be hunted down."

"Like Michonne?" Daryl asked with a snort.

The woman still hadn't fully adjusted to the prison. Maybe she was still dealing with all the changes that the end of the world brought. Maybe she was dealing with being behind the fences. Maybe she was dealing with something else, entirely, that she wasn't ready to discuss. She caged, sometimes, almost like some kind of large cat. She paced the lengths of the fences like she was checking them for weaknesses.

Maybe she'd find some. Maybe she'd have some ideas for repairing them.

For the time being, they let her work things out her way. They'd handle it if it looked like she needed a hand or like things were getting away from her.

"He wanted any damn body that knew about the place hunted down," Merle said. "Weren't my idea, but livin' is livin' after Officer Friendly leaves your ass for dead."

Daryl nodded. He frowned to himself.

"I could tell you every day how damn sorry I am, brother, that'cha got left like that," Daryl said.

"And it wouldn't buy me back a single day or grow me back even one finger," Merle said. "So don't waste your damned breath. Officer Friendly ain't sorry."

"Maybe he's damn sorry about a lot of things," Daryl said. "Things ain't turned out for him like he woulda wanted, I'm sure of that."

Merle laughed to himself.

"I'll remember to cry a few tears for him later tonight," Merle said. "But that weren't what the hell we was talkin' about. Was sayin' that they ain't got no huntin' goin' on neither. The people that lived there—most of 'em ain't knowed they were running outta food so quick."

Daryl looked at Sophia. She wasn't following along with anything they were saying. She rested with one arm wrapped around Merle's neck and the other hung at her side. She was watching the animal pens some distance away. Carl was just about to start doing something with the horses. She wouldn't stay with Merle much longer. Before Daryl could even point out that her interest was shifting, Sophia turned around pushed at Merle.

"Down," she said.

"Huh?" He asked.

"Down, please," Sophia said. "Down."

"She wants to get down," Daryl pointed out. "Where you headin', Soph?" She pointed out toward the pens. "Tell me with words, please."

"Horsies," Sophia said with some urgency. She usually seemed to think that there was a very precarious window during which things must be done. If she missed that window, nothing would ever be right again. If Carl was mucking out the horse pen or feeding the animals, he'd let her in as long as it was safe—no matter when she got down there. Likewise, if he felt it wasn't safe, he'd force her to stay outside the fences no matter how long she stood there and wailed about her predicament.

"Just—don't'cha run. They ain't goin' nowhere."

Daryl had barely said the words, though, before Sophia took off at the only speed she really seemed to find comfortable—as fast as she could go. He watched her until she reached the pens and he watched as Carl picked her up and carried her with him to do his chores. When she was settled, Daryl turned his attention back to the conversation that he was having with his brother.

"I built them smokehouses," Daryl said. He gestured to the two that they had. "Wanna build more. Maybe they ain't the nicest ones, but they stocked full of meat. That don't even count what we workin' on raisin' here ourselves. We ain't goin' hungry, not if I can help it. Saw what it was like to get hungry on the road. Worried about it. Worried about Carol and Sophia. Now I'm just thinkin' about that lil' one that Carol's growin' and—brother, I won't let her go hungry. Not even if I gotta track down the last damn deer in Georgia."

"Doubt that'cha would have to," Merle said. "This area's crawlin' with deer. They too fast for the Walkers and there ain't a ton of people huntin' 'em out. The smokehouses are nice, though. Figure you could trade some of what'cha know—some of what all of us know—in exchange for what'cha need to get this place even nicer than it is."

"That was the plan, weren't it?" Daryl asked. "Or did I hear wrong when we decided that the good people of Woodbury would be comin' to the prison for a table meeting on what we could exchange as we become somethin' like sister communities?"

"Your Officer Friendly run this place?" Merle asked, dropping all pretext.

Daryl glanced down toward the area where he knew that Rick was working with Hershel in their crops. Rick was doing everything he could, these days, to escape his wife. He'd come up with any odd job that he could concoct—even when there was relatively little to do—to avoid Lori's company. He spent a great deal of time with the animals and crops.

"Sometimes I guess he thinks he does," Daryl said.

"That means you don't think he does?" Merle asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"He had a temporary sort of break from himself," Daryl said. "Went on this whole thing of thinkin' he was gonna—rule over us like some kinda king. It was short lived. Needless to say, he can't hardly keep his own life together. He ain't fit to be lordin' over nobody."

"Can't none of us hardly keep our lives together," Merle offered.

"I reckon he thinks he's in charge some odd days," Daryl said. "But the truth of the matter is that we do a lot more by council these days than we do by just followin' what one person says. Most of the decisions made is decisions that we all agree on."

Merle nodded his head.

"I know the people of Woodbury," Merle said. "Whether or not they think I'm a son of a bitch, I'm a familiar son of a bitch. It'd be a good idea to let me do some of the talkin' with 'em."

"I'd agree with that," Daryl said. "They was happy to listen to you when we was tellin' 'em about the loss of the Governor."

"Lettin' me deal with 'em a lil' bit is way on better than lettin' him start throwin' his damn weight around as a stranger," Merle said. "Sittin' down to tell 'em what they will and won't do an' shit."

"I agree with that, too, brother," Daryl said.

"Good," Merle said. "So—how about you make sure he knows about it? Just so we clear."

"You could talk to him yourself, Merle," Daryl pointed out.

Merle laughed to himself.

"Let's just say—I'm still workin' on some things. Not ready to talk to him just yet. Not more'n I absolutely gotta to keep the damned peace in this here penal paradise."

Daryl laughed.

"Yeah," he said. "I get it. Look—if you need to blow of some steam or whatever, I been watchin' Michonne an' it seems like runnin' the length of these fences a hundred or more times a day will set you up for feelin' better. Just an idea—if you feel up to it."

Merle hummed.

"Might," he said. "But she's still got that sword, an' I done stopped wearin' my blade—on account of your kid an' all. So—I'll do my best not to run up on Midnight until she's had a chance to cool down some."


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I should let you all know that in a week, I'll be starting a class for work that will occupy almost every waking moment of my time for two weeks. Please pass it on if anyone should wonder where I've gone during that time. I won't have run away; I'll simply be working.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"There's no use slinking around," Carol said. "You're either helping or you're underfoot and in the way."

She laughed to herself at the genuinely shocked expression that briefly flashed across the woman's features. She was good at hiding her expressions, and she usually kept a rather rock-solid expression of distaste on her face, but Carol wasn't fooled.

There was a great deal more to Michonne than the bitterness with which she usually covered herself.

"You're hardly ever alone," Michonne said, stepping completely into view where she'd been hiding somewhat behind the wall of the building. Carol had only stopped near her to rest a moment and put down the laundry basket. If she hadn't stopped, she might have missed that she had the attention of one of the quieter inhabitants of the prison.

The table meeting had already dissolved. Carol had been present for it, as had pretty much everyone else who had any interest at all in what was going on and didn't prefer to simply be told that things were going to go a certain way. There were still some conversations taking place, but they were more personal and informal. Most of the visitors from Woodbury were being seen out of the gates, and most of the continuing conversations were taking place down near the fences. Slowly, everyone was starting to get back to their daily routines.

Carol was only just bringing out the laundry to start washing. She'd sent Andrea ahead, already, with two buckets so that she could do the muscle-straining work of turning the manual pump to pump the water, fill the buckets, and haul the water up the hill to be warmed.

It appeared that Michonne had nothing to do, or else she hadn't quite gotten around to starting whatever it was she needed to accomplish.

"I'm hardly ever alone," Carol echoed. She laughed to herself and raised her eyebrows in the direction of the woman who slowly approached her almost like she was some kind of wild animal that might lash out at her at any given moment. "I prefer it that way. When I'm alone, it usually means that I'm up to my neck in work and I'm handling it all by myself."

"Andrea's usually with you," Michonne said.

"Andrea's been a blessing to me," Carol said. "She's getting the water, though. I'm using her muscles."

"The others—don't help?"

"See for yourself," Carol said. "Beth helps sometimes, but I usually prefer her to be around to help with Sophia and Judith whenever anyone needs their hands free from the girls. Lori—well, she finds things to do, I'm sure. Andrea and I could stand the help, though, if you're offering."

Michonne stared at the basket and back at Carol.

"Andrea and I…"

"Need to make up," Carol said. "And I might be able to facilitate that if you'll just tell me what it is that you're fighting over, exactly."

Michonne glanced down toward the pump. It was near the fences. Carol didn't have to ask her what she was looking for. It wasn't necessary. She was looking at Andrea. She was, more than likely, trying to gauge where Andrea was in the completion of her chore.

"She'll be a while," Carol said. "She'll have to get the pump flowing. It takes a while. Turning that crank is exhausting. It sticks. If she has to clear the line, that'll take a while, too. She'll need to rest before she tries to carry two buckets up the hill after that. I'll have time to get the fire going good before she gets back. You can tell me whatever you need to say."

Michonne furrowed her brow at Carol. Her only response, though, was to step forward and pick up the heavy basket that Carol had put down for a few moments—the move from inside the prison being enough to make her need a quick rest before she hauled it to where they would do the laundry in the big metal tub.

Carol thanked Michonne and gestured with her head toward the laundry area. Michonne started in that direction with the basket.

"We were out there—it seemed like forever," Michonne said.

"Andrea said you saved her," Carol said. "Without you, she wouldn't be alive."

"Maybe we both offered each other something," Michonne said.

"You care for Andrea," Carol said. "You don't even have to say it. I can hear it in your voice. So—why the feud? Was it really all Merle?"

Michonne stopped walking long enough to scowl at Carol and Carol swallowed down her laughter.

"Andrea was sick," Michonne said. "Dying, honestly. I couldn't save her."

"But Merle did," Carol said.

"Merle found us," Michonne said. "The doctor saved her. The medicine that I couldn't find because Woodbury cleaned everything out."

"And she's alive," Carol said. "Doing well. I would think you'd be happy."

"I knew about the Governor almost immediately. I knew things weren't right. I knew he wasn't right. I wanted to leave. I wanted her to go with me."

"And she wanted to stay," Carol offered. "With Merle."

"She should have trusted me," Michonne said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"She obviously did trust you," Carol said. "She does trust you. She's done nothing but speak your praises when you're not around." Michonne's expression gave her away a bit more than she probably would have liked. She put the basket she'd been carrying down and straightened up, clearly stretching her back. She cast a glance back down toward the pumps, but Andrea was still diligently working at her task. She'd gained a helper, now, in the form of Sophia, and that meant it would take her longer to accomplish almost anything that she tried to do. "She does. Michonne—Andrea still cares for you. You're clearly someone she considers a friend. I think your distance hurts her."

"And her betrayal?" Michonne asked.

"How did she betray you?" Carol asked.

"She chose him," Michonne said. "And he tried to kill me."

"I won't defend the fact that the Governor wanted you killed," Carol said. "And I'm uncomfortable defending Merle for trying to kill you, but he was doing his job. And this world—it's made everyone do things they didn't think they were capable of. Merle—hasn't always had an easy life. He's made some bad decisions, maybe."

"Andrea wanted to be with him."

"She did," Carol said. "And I won't fault her for that. He offered her safety. The things she needed to live. She was just getting over the illness."

"I kept her safe," Michonne said. "I would have kept her alive when we left."

"When you got here, it was Daryl that kept you alive," Carol said. "You would've died in the woods if Daryl hadn't been there."

"Only because Merle shot me," Michonne said.

"Maybe that's what Andrea was afraid of," Carol said. "But Merle offered Andrea something else. Maybe it was—a memory. A reminder of who she used to be. Where she came from. I think—Merle was the closest thing to home that Andrea had left."

Michonne frowned. This frown wasn't a frown of disapproval, though. It ran far deeper than that. Just the sight of it tugging on the woman's features pulled at something in Carol's chest.

"She loves Merle," Carol said. "Even if—she's not sure how he feels about her, she loves him. Even if—she doesn't feel really able to defend that, she loves him. But she can love more than one person. If you'll let her." Carol watched Michonne's face. Maybe there was a hint of a tremble in her chin. Maybe her eyes looked just a little pink where they'd been white before and maybe there was some dampness playing at the soft hair of her lower lashes. She had created a persona of someone who was hard and untouchable. She'd created a persona of someone who was nearly feral. She had created a persona to protect herself, and Carol refused to tear that down because she understood that scabs and calluses were always there to protect what was tender from further damage. Still, she wanted to let Michonne know that she saw her, and she was safe. "We've all lost a great deal since this began. Families and friends—we've lost everyone we knew that isn't here now. The best thing we can do now is—take what we can find. Love those who are willing to give love. The world's too cruel now to throw away a friend that's standing right in front of us." She shook her head at Michonne, even though the woman didn't say anything with her mouth, she said plenty with her eyes. "Contrary to what we might believe sometimes, it doesn't hurt less to lose them by pushing them away before something takes them."

"She asked you to talk to me?" Michonne asked.

"No," Carol said. "I'm talking to you as much for your benefit as I am for Andrea's. If we're lucky, we're building a life here. It's worth sharing it with friends and family. But if you're not able to forgive her for—for finding love and comfort with someone from her life before you…"

"Have you lost anyone?" Michonne asked.

"The thing about me is—I lost almost everyone before this happened," Carol said. "My husband—my ex-husband—took everyone and everything away from me that I cared about. Or he took me away from them, however you want to look at it. I suppose they're all really gone now, but I lost them a long time ago. I know I've been one of the lucky ones. I've gained a lot since this started. Friends. Family. Hope." She touched her stomach where there was still relatively little evidence of the future Dixon that would join their ranks. "I hope I've still got so much more to gain…"

"Some of us—lost more than we gained," Michonne said.

"I know that," Carol said. "And—although I don't know your personal losses, I'm sorry for them. We can't bring them back, but we can offer you family. If you want it. But you have to be the one to open up and accept it."

"Your daughter—how old is she? Two? Three?" Michonne asked.

Carol glanced down toward the fences. It was clear that Andrea was making some progress, but she was taking her time. She was entertaining Sophia by allowing Sophia to help her. Sophia's help could lengthen the duration of any task, but Carol was thankful for those who took time to make her daughter feel special, loved, and valuable—even if it meant they had a little extra work on their plates.

"I don't know," Carol said. "To be honest. Three, I suppose."

"One of mine was three," Michonne said. "Angie. The oldest. Her sister was two. They were barely ten months apart."

The impact of what Michonne said hit Carol in the gut hard enough that she could barely catch her breath for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she breathed out, already knowing that the words were worthless.

Michonne shook her head.

"It happened—in the very beginning," Michonne said. "I left work as soon as the outbreak hit the news. There were already Walkers in the streets. Everyone was…trying to get somewhere. I didn't make it to them in time."

"God—I'm so…sorry," Carol said. "I don't—I can't even…I don't know what to say."

Michonne quickly swiped away the stray tear that rolled down her cheek.

"You don't have to say anything," Michonne said. "There's nothing to say. Nothing that matters."

"Andrea never said…"

"She doesn't know," Michonne interrupted.

"Why would you tell me?" Carol asked.

Michonne shrugged her shoulders.

"Because you're a mother?" She said it as though she wasn't sure herself. Carol understood that. There were truths about her life that she talked about more freely now than she had in the past. When she'd shared those truths, especially in the past, the circumstances surrounding that sharing always surprised her. Sometimes it varied from moment to moment how comfortable she was sharing. Sometimes it was something in the way somebody spoke or carried themselves that made her take the chance to share. Whatever it was, she wasn't always sure of what drove her to give a piece of herself to someone else.

What she did know, though, was that it was important to value that piece of someone's soul when they chose to share it.

Carol held her arms out in welcome to Michonne and the woman hesitated before she came to Carol and tentatively accepted the embrace that she was offered. She lingered longer than Carol thought she might, and Carol wondered how truly starved she was for comfort and affection. She'd likely found that with Andrea, and the fear of losing that—the thought that Andrea might not offer her that comfort anymore in the face of a new relationship with Merle—might have been a bit unbearable under the circumstances.

Carol released Michonne only when Michonne pulled away from her. She offered her the best smile she could, though her throat ached with the sympathy she felt for the woman's experiences.

"I don't know what you're going through," Carol offered.

"I hope you never do," Michonne said blankly.

"But—I meant what I said. We'll offer you home. A family. Friends. My daughter—if you give her a chance? It won't be the same. It never could be. But—she does love to love, and she's hardly ever met anyone she didn't want to at least try to love."

Michonne nodded her head. She breathed out a thanks. She swiped at the stray droplets on her face and she furrowed her brow at the laundry basket like glaring at the inanimate object might help her rebuild the walls that had accidentally crumbled a little at the corners.

"I'm not very good at it," Michonne said. "But I could help with the laundry."

"I accept all skill levels," Carol said. "But—I think you should talk to Andrea."

"There could be time while we're—doing the laundry," Michonne offered. "And—I might need help."

"There will be plenty of time," Carol said. "And—maybe I can help."

The smile she got was tightlipped, but it was a smile. Carol would take it from the woman who had shown relatively little emotion, since her arrival, that hadn't been negative.

"Come on, let's get some wood," Carol said. "We'll get the fire for the water started." She pressed a hand affectionately to Michonne's back and pointed her in the direction of the wood that Daryl cut and stacked for her. Michonne nodded and walked with her.

Carol thought she might be imagining things, but she was almost certain the woman's shoulders were straighter and her steps were lighter. Carol glanced back over her shoulder. She could see Andrea coming slowly, a heavy bucket in each hand, with Sophia trotting at her side. Andrea saw her, too. She was certain she did.

And she saw the smile, too, that spread across the blonde's features to see that Carol—on a day that, so far, had hinged on forming relationships and building bridges—had found a friend.


	31. Chapter 31

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **It's a little "family time." There will be a lot going on for this little family in the future. I hope you guys don't get sick of the warm fuzzies with a bit of angst every now and again, because (fortunately or unfortunately) that's what this one is going to be.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"You gotta close your eyes now," Daryl said. "It don't work if you don't close your eyes."

Sophia did close her eyes. It wouldn't have taken too much prompting, though. As soon as Daryl pressed his palms—slathered with the lotion that he'd warmed between them—against her back and rubbed with just the slightest bit of pressure, Sophia's whole body relaxed with satisfaction.

Daryl swept his fingers across her skin and kneaded her tiny muscles with his fingertips. She had come in from playing with Beth to see him giving Carol a back massage in their cell—a way he often passed the time while they discussed anything they needed to talk over, and there were a lot of plans to be made for the future of their family—and she'd been immediately jealous. She needed such a thing in her life, and she was sure of it. Daryl had considered it, and he'd decided there was no harm in offering his daughter a back massage.

So, he'd promised her that, after her bath, he'd give her one as he slathered her down with the lotion that she was accustomed to being coated with after she was clean.

Daryl didn't stop at back massage. Instead, he applied the lotion to her body as he always did but, instead of simply slathering it on before he tucked her into her ducky pajamas, he took his time to massage her. He massaged her tiny arms between his fingers. He rolled her tiny fingers in his and rubbed her feet with his thumbs. By the time he finished, Sophia was practically a human-shaped wet noodle in his arms. She offered him very little help as he worked her into her clean pajamas and lowered her into her playpen.

When she was settled, Daryl tucked her blanket around her. He offered her the lamb that she treasured and she cuddled it against her face.

"You settled?" Daryl asked. She hummed at him and peered at him through slits. "You need somethin' else?" She hummed again. Her hums had been neither clearly affirmative nor negative, but if she'd actually needed or greatly desired anything, she would have given voice to that. "Goodnight then. Sweet dreams, Soph. I love you."

"Love you, Daddy," Sophia breathed out, her words barely taking shape.

The playpen near Sophia was abandoned for the time being. Lori and Rick must have their youngest with them. She would, eventually, be moved to the playpen to sleep.

Eventually, Sophia would have a room all her own in one of the converted cells near Daryl and Carol. That was a project that Daryl hoped to start soon—a personal project among many community projects that had been planned at table meetings with members of their new somewhat sister-community—but it wasn't a project that he would start that night.

In the corridor, on his way back to the cell that he called home, Daryl practically bumped into Andrea. She smiled at him, and offered an apology for nearly running into him.

"You couldn't see me over all that shit," Daryl said, gesturing to her over-filled arms. "My bad. I shoulda been looking." Andrea's arms were practically overflowing with everything she was trying to carry. "You—need a hand?"

"No," Andrea said. "Thank you. I'm—going to take a bath. Merle's waiting for me. He's warming up some water for us."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Now I know you done somethin' to my brother," Daryl said. "You got him bathin' regular and everything."

Daryl winked at Andrea to let her know he was teasing when she looked a little taken aback. A smile replaced her concern.

"He can only be convinced to act civilized when he wants something," Andrea said. "It's bribery."

"It's a good woman," Daryl offered. "Somethin' he ain't never had before. Glad he found it. But—just be a little patient with him. He don't always know how to act."

Andrea nodded.

"I think he's figuring it out," she offered. "Goodnight, Daryl."

"Night," he said.

"Tell Carol I said goodnight?" Andrea requested.

"On my way now," Daryl said. "Tell Merle I said—fuckin' behave."

Andrea laughed to herself.

"Wouldn't be any fun if he did," she teased.

"Spoken like Merle his own damn self," Daryl said as he took his leave of Andrea and made his way back to the cell where Carol was sitting in bed, reading a book and waiting for him. She peered at him over the top of the reading glasses that sat perched on her nose and smiled at him.

She was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. And Daryl wasn't sure if she didn't have some kind of magic spell that kept her just getting more and more beautiful every day.

"She asleep?" Carol asked.

"Prob'ly out cold by now," Daryl said. "Damn near couldn't hold out for me to leave. Might be somethin' to them massages. Never thought of it with her bein' little."

"She deserves to relax, too," Carol said.

Daryl sat down on the edge of their bed—a bed that very nearly took up all the room in their cell but was more than worth it—and leaned to kiss Carol. She met him with a kiss that she clearly meant.

"You're very good at massages, too," Carol said when the kiss broke. "I don't think you should discredit the role of your skill in all this."

"You play your cards right," Daryl said, "an' I might just have a whole body massage in store for you tonight 'fore you close your eyes. Send you off right to sleep."

Carol smiled at him.

"As long as mine is special…and has a happy ending," Carol challenged.

Daryl felt his cheeks ache. He couldn't help but smile at her. She knew how to draw it out of him.

"You sure is hungry, ain't you?" He teased. "You runnin' me tired—first that lil' trot off after breakfast an' then that emergency you had while Soph was with Beth."

Carol sighed.

"I know," she said. She patted her stomach. "I think it might be…" She didn't tell him what she thought it was—at least not in so many words, but he read her gesture. His chest tightened and his stomach fluttered at the mention of the baby. Every time she mentioned the existence of the little thing, it nearly robbed Daryl of his breath just to be reminded that it was there, it was growing and, one day, if they were so blessed, it would be there. He reached his hand out and rested it where hers was pressed against her belly. She moved her hand to let him rub her. "Am I too horrible? I don't want to—drive you away or something."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You couldn't drive me away with a pitchfork, a swarm of hornets, an' a fuckin' wildfire set on followin' my ass an' burnin' me up," Daryl offered. "But what does it do to make you—ya know—want so much lovin'?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"Hormones, I guess," she offered. Daryl saw her cheeks blush pink in the lamplight that illuminated their cell. "I feel like I could—climb you like a tree."

Daryl felt his own cheeks burn hot when her words made parts of his anatomy slowly wake from the slumber they'd been enjoying for the past few hours.

"Shit—I do like it when you talkin' to me like that," Daryl said.

"You don't think it makes me sound—like a…like a whore or something?" Carol asked.

Apparently, her ex-husband, may his soul burn for all eternity as far as Daryl was concerned, had felt the need to call Carol a whore every time she even so much as expressed slight interest in something sexual. That, coupled with the years that he'd apparently spent telling her she was terrible at everything sexual and teaching her that sex was meant for nothing beyond his satisfaction—occurring when and how he wanted it—had burned into Carol's mind that something was inherently wrong with her desires.

Though Daryl had promised her a thousand times that he enjoyed being with her, and that he enjoyed knowing that she enjoyed being with him, her insecurities sometimes came flaring back up. And Daryl was patient with her because he understood—and she was always patient with him.

"Only if you bein' my whore," Daryl teased. "An' I don't see no problem with that at all." She frowned at him. "It's good—healthy. I like it."

Deciding that actions spoke louder than words, Daryl moved his hand. He snaked it up to find the band to her pajama pants. He found the band to her cotton underwear beyond that. He found his way inside them and slipped his fingers down to find her center. She spread her legs a little to allow him access, dropped her book to the side, and closed her eyes. When she parted her lips, clearly prepared to fully enjoy whatever he gave her, Daryl's whole body cried out in response and his brain sent a rush of blood southward to prepare to offer her everything she might need—anything she might desire.

Daryl slipped his fingers between her moist folds and teased her, his thumb finding the other spot she desired. It was enough, and he knew it, to caress her this way. He had learned her body well enough that he was confident that he could tease a chain of orgasms out of her without changing his position much.

And he greatly enjoyed teasing them out of her—one after another. He wasn't a man who was too interested in having a great deal of power over the woman he loved, but that was one power that he treasured having.

"You like it?" He asked, teasing her. He moved just like he knew she'd want and she shifted her body to allow him more room to move and manipulate her. "You want it?" He asked. She tossed her head back into the pillows she was propped against. Her head moved like her neck was no longer capable of fully supporting it. She made a sound that was caught between a gurgle and a growl. "Shit…" Daryl breathed out. He leaned against her. He kissed her lips and her jaw. His other hand went seeking her breast inside her pajama shirt and he teased her nipple. "That what'cha need?" He growled. He pressed his head against her. Quickly, and only abandoning the claim he had on her breast, he allowed his hand to work loose the button and zipper of his pants. He worked them down enough to free himself. Before he could do anything, Carol's hand reached out and wrapped her fingers around him.

He made eye contact with her—her eyes were practically glazed over from what pleasure she'd already gotten from him—and she smiled.

"What you give to me…" Carol said.

"You give me back a tenfold," Daryl offered.

He kissed her and she returned the kiss. It was long and lingering. Daryl enjoyed the taste of it for a moment before he returned to the work that he'd been doing. Now, as he did his best to focus on what he knew that Carol would find enjoyable, she focused on doing the same for him.

Together, they found release with him finding relief only a moment after her.

Panting and satisfied, Daryl searched out Carol's lips again and she accepted the kiss and moaned into his mouth.

"We don't even get undressed," Daryl offered with a laugh. He sat up enough to find a handkerchief. He wiped his fingers before he offered it to Carol to clean her hand.

"Are you complaining?" Carol asked.

"Did it scratch your itch?" Daryl asked. He leaned, pushed her pajama shirt out of the way enough, and planted a soft kiss just below her belly button. "Did it—get'cha what'cha need to be satisfied?"

Carol laughed and dropped her hand to gently run her fingers through Daryl's hair.

"For—at least another half an hour," Carol said with a sigh.

"I'll be on call when you need me," Daryl said with a laugh. He kissed her once more and stood up to work his way out of his clothes. "What was you readin', anyway? Before I interrupted. One of your sexy books?"

Many years ago, in the CDC, Daryl had discovered that Carol was a fan of a certain kind of book. As a result, he had a habit of bringing her those books if he happened to stumble across them while on runs. Carol was a fan of these books with half-naked people on the cover. There was always some cavorting and a ridiculous romance that took strangers from meeting each other to being hot and heavy in a matter of minutes. They were always set in some exotic place and there was plenty of heaving bosoms and throbbing members to go around.

Sometimes, when a part was particularly good, Daryl let Carol read it to him. If she really liked it, and she let him know that by dog-earing the corners of the parts she really liked, he would re-read those parts a couple of times before he gave it his best effort to bring them to life. The setting for them never actually changed, of course. They were always in a cell, converted to a bedroom, in a prison in Georgia, but they could pretend they were in a vineyard in France or somewhere else that Daryl couldn't even imagine.

It didn't matter to him. All that mattered to him was that the were there together.

And even though Carol did a good bit of struggling to catch her breath if he could get her just right, and though he felt a decent enough amount of throbbing going on in his cock when she was driving him out of his skull, he wasn't so sure that he did a great job of bringing her books to life. But she didn't seem to care about the details that much.

For Carol, really, it seemed to be the thought that mattered. And, like Daryl, she seemed to only care too much that it was the two of them who were having one illicit affair after another—wherever they took place.

Carol sighed, shifted around with some air of satisfaction in the bed, and looked at the cover of the book. It was one of those that he'd brought her. She closed it and tossed it at the nightstand. Her reading glasses followed after the book.

"It's one about—medieval times. You know. Castles and all that."

"Not no good?" Daryl asked.

"It was," Carol said. "But next to the real thing?"

Daryl smiled at her. He stepped out of his underwear as his final piece of clothing. He made the decision, without asking her if she agreed, that he wouldn't need them during the night. He leaned over and glanced at the cover of the book.

"I don't compare in no kinda way to that fancy-ass knight there," Daryl said.

"No," Carol said, shaking her head at him. "You don't." He frowned at her and she wiggled around, clearly working her way out of her pajama bottoms beneath the cover. She smiled at him, and winked at him, too, as she tossed them over the side of the bed and flicked the cover back. "You're a thousand times better," she said, reaching her arms out toward him.

"Gonna be a minute," he promised her, happily coming to join her in bed. As soon as he was settled, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

"We've got all night," she assured him. "And you can tell me all about the plans you were making earlier."


	32. Chapter 32

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol stood with her hands on her hips and looked at the cell that was overflowing with the large black hefty bags that they'd used when they'd gone on the last run. There were bags on the floor, bags on the bed, and even bags on top of bags. There was barely room for Daryl and Carol to both fit into the cell along with all the bags.

Daryl had dragged all of the bags down from one of the extra cells and had piled them up before he'd come for Carol and asked for attention for just a moment.

"Well—what do you think?" Daryl asked.

"I think—when you told me you needed me for a minute," Carol said, "that I thought you had something else in mind. Daryl, what is all this stuff?"

Daryl reached over and stretched open the top of one of the bags, the red handles slid out of the way to allow the mouth of the bag to gape open and reveal that it was almost to the point of overflowing with cloth.

"Clothes," Daryl said.

"Why are they all in our cell?" Carol asked.

"Because I want you to have first pick," Daryl said. He reached in the bag and pulled something out. Carol could tell by his expression that he wasn't sure what he had until he shook it out to reveal that it was a dress. He spread it out on the bed. "That one's—well, it's really big. And maybe that ain't one you want, but I got all they had. Every single piece. These are maternity clothes. For now—for when you're pregnant."

"I know what maternity clothes are," Carol offered. The expression that she got from Daryl told her that he wasn't amused and she laughed to herself. He smiled in response, but moved his thumb to his mouth to bother his cuticle and erase the smile. Carol looked around at the bags. "There's so much."

"Cleaned 'em out," Daryl said. "I wanted you to have what you want. Whatever it is you need." He shrugged his shoulders. "We always need clothes. Cloth. Rags, even. So, whatever it is that you don't want or you don't need…"

"I can make quilts," Carol said. "And there will be more babies. More women who could use maternity clothes." She reached a hand out and brushed the fabric of the dress that Daryl had half spread out on the bed. A glance at the tag told her it would go to quilting fabric. Even though they ate better now than they had in the past, none of them—not even loaded down with the weight of a baby that was ready to be born—would be large enough to require that particular dress. But some nice quilts would be welcome when the winter set in.

Carol smiled to herself when she glanced at Daryl. He was watching her out of the corner of his eye with his head partially turned away like he had a very vested interest in the big black bags. He was waiting to be told if he'd done right or wrong. He was waiting for some word from her on whether or not he could go—practically prancing around the prison—to attend to whatever other business he needed to take care of, or if he should slink—head down and shoulders forward—back to some corner or guard tower to sulk over his failure as a father to their unborn baby and to the woman that he still refused to call a wife because Hershel hadn't yet publicly declared such a thing to be so.

Carol had never had such power over a man before. She could make Daryl's day wonderful, or she could ruin it with just a word or a gesture. She knew that, just like there were men who abused their power over women, there were women who abused their power over men.

She would never do that to Daryl.

Even when things weren't exactly the way they should be, and even when he'd gone a little too far to the left of things, his heart was in the right place. After her experiences with the man she'd first called her husband, Carol had an acute interest in where the heart lie in nearly every situation.

She gave Daryl the best smile that she could produce.

"This was so thoughtful," she offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You start somethin' with that and I know you're about to try to make me feel better," Daryl said.

Carol laughed. It relaxed her. She felt the tension in her shoulders melting away. She hadn't even realized it was forming there—silently proving that even after everything, and even with absolute trust that Daryl would never surprise her in a bad way, her instinct still prepared for every interaction to go negatively.

"I mean it," Carol said. "There's enough clothing here for anyone who might need it. Some of this—it's even more comfortable just to wear than the things we have now. I can use the leftover clothes for quilts for the winter and, and to make clothes. Other clothes."

"Does that mean you don't wanna wear none of it now?" Daryl asked. "I mean—I got it for you. For growing the baby."

Carol felt the familiar fluttering that happened inside of her. It wasn't their little one—or at least she didn't think it was their little one, though she sometimes wondered these days—rather, it was the feeling that she got in response to the way that Daryl talked about their little one. Everything in her body seemed to respond with a happiness that was outside of her control when he mentioned the baby. She'd never felt it before. She'd certainly never felt it when she was carrying Sophia. She almost felt magnetically pulled to him when he brought it up and, when she responded even then by offering him a kiss, he gladly took it.

He smiled at her.

"That felt like you meant it," Daryl said with a laugh, "that I done alright."

"You did wonderfully," Carol said. "And I'm absolutely going to go through it. I'm going to get some things out to wear. I only meant that there's so much here that it can be used by everyone."

"You do what you want with it," Daryl said, "but I got it. It was me and T that loaded them bags in the back of that truck while they coulda been Walkers all over our asses. It was the two of us cleared out that store of Walkers an' cleared off them streets good enough to work. We got this for you. All of it. So, don't you let nobody talk you out of nothin' you want."

Carol wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into her. He wrapped his own arms around her and she felt the weight of his hands resting at the small of her back.

"I hear you," she told him. "Loud and clear. This is mine. All of it. And I'll spend this morning going through it to decide what I want to wear and what I want for—making a few other things. And what I want to put up as an offering to any future mothers around here." She smiled at him. "Thank you, Pookie, for taking such good care of me."

Immediately Daryl's cheeks flooded pink and he let out a choked laugh before he pulled away from her and playfully pushed her backward to put what distance between them the overcrowded cell would allow.

"Asshole," he said.

By now, Carol accepted the word with all of the affection that it held.

"I do have a question," Carol said.

Daryl narrowed his eyebrows at her and did his best to scowl at her despite his evident desire to do otherwise. She didn't try to swallow down her laughter, and when the giggle escaped her, it was clear that it was even more difficult for Daryl to hold the put-on scowl. She held her hand up.

"A real question," she said. "Sincere."

She reached for the open bag and started to sort things out onto the bed beside the bag. There was so much there that it would take her the better part of the day to figure out what to do with all of it. She could tease Daryl for bringing so much, but the truth was that it would be very handy to have around.

"Shoot," Daryl said.

Carol examined a dress that she found. It was one that caught her eye and it happened to be more in her size than the other that Daryl had laid out before.

"Does this mean that—you think I need these?" Carol asked.

"Maternity clothes," Daryl said. He somewhat stammered over the words. "That's what they're for. You're—what they're for. For havin' a baby."

"I know what they're for," Carol said.

"Then I don't know why the hell you're askin' me if you need 'em when you know that you're havin' a baby," Daryl said. "Unless—there's something I don't know about."

"No," Carol said quickly. "No—I'm pregnant."

"So you need maternity clothes," Daryl said.

"Does that mean you think I need them now? That you think I'm fat?"

Carol almost laughed at the expression that crossed Daryl's face. Even though he would declare that he was all thumbs with this sort of thing and the he knew absolutely nothing about women, he knew enough about women that a quick shock of panic spread across his features. Carol swallowed down her laughter.

"Pregnant," Daryl offered.

"But fat?" Carol asked.

"Pregnant," Daryl repeated.

"But—fat enough that something got you down to that cell just after breakfast to drag all these bags down here?" Carol asked.

"They been here," Daryl said. "Since the run. And they weren't doing no good in that cell. I been waitin' on Glenn and Maggie to get married, but if they don't do it soon…and I know that everybody keeps sayin' that I oughta wait to give you everything else I've got for you, even though I don't want to. But I talked to Hershel and he said you might want these—ya know—sooner rather than later."

Carol raised her eyebrows at him, pleased with his explanation of things even though it wound around itself a bit and got a little tangled up.

"You talked to Hershel about giving me seven sacks of maternity clothes?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded.

"He's got way more experience than me," Daryl said. "With wives and marriage and babies. He's about the only one around here that does, honestly. Strange as that sounds to say. And the last damn thing I want is to ask Rick's advice on—ya know—marriage things."

"I love you," Carol blurted. She was surprised that the words came tumbling out when they did, but they were right there and she couldn't hold them back any longer. Daryl looked pleasantly surprised by the admission.

"I love you, too," he said. "But—what'd I do to deserve that?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"You're just you," she said. "My wonderful…husband?" She raised her eyebrows at him and moved toward him for another embrace. He accepted her, but held her at arm's length enough to give her something of a disapproving expression.

"Not until we get married," Daryl said.

Carol sighed. She stepped back and took his hand. He let her move it when he realized what she was doing. She pressed it to her abdomen and felt the familiar sensation inside of her—the feeling of a happiness that could barely be contained by her own skin—at his touch. He affectionately rubbed his fingers over the cotton of her shirt.

"We're as married as we're ever going to be," Carol said.

"We'll be even more married when Hershel marries us," Daryl said. Carol frowned at him. "But you're gettin' pressed about it."

"I didn't think it mattered," Carol said. "It doesn't matter. Not—the whole ceremony or everyone there. It doesn't matter to me. But it does matter to me to—to be able to say you're my husband." She shook her head at him. "And I don't know why, exactly, but that's starting to matter more to me every day."

Daryl smiled at her. She could practically feel the warmth radiating out from his eyes as he held hers with his own, unblinking. His fingers rubbed against her. The warmth radiating out from his hand practically copied that which she felt from his expression.

"I think I can imagine what might be makin' it more important," Daryl said. "But if you don't wanna wait no more…"

"Maggie and Glenn…" Carol said.

"Have had time," Daryl said. "And they got a whole damn lotta time ahead of 'em, too. If they was that serious about it, they'da done it by now."

"They're waiting for the right time," Carol said.

"Then they ain't lived long enough to know that right now is the right time if you…if you really want it," Daryl said.

"We waited this long," Carol said.

Daryl responded to her with a kiss and nothing more. The kiss was everything she wanted it to be, though, even though she hadn't quite realized she'd been waiting for it. She was hungry for the kiss and she enjoyed that Daryl let her have all she wanted. He waited for her to break it. When she looked at his lips, the corner of them turned upward.

"You ain't fat," Daryl said. "You're pregnant, though. And I was kinda thinking that—not that you was fat—but that them pants? They ain't very forgiving. Not for a pregnant woman. And with all that bendin' an' up and down you do all day? I didn't like the idea that the baby might be feelin' smashed."

"You're saying my pants are tight enough that they're crushing our baby?" Carol asked with a snort.

"I'm sayin' that I don't want our baby feelin' restricted," Daryl said. "Want it to feel like it's got room to grow. To stretch out. Like it's got all the room it needs."

"So I'm fat enough that I'm…crushing our child and restricting its growth?" Carol asked. She smirked at Daryl. He saw it because he didn't look frightened. He didn't back away from her like he feared some kind of anger from her. The smirk didn't leave his lips.

"I didn't never say fat," Daryl said. "I said pregnant. And you are. And that's my kid, too. So I'm tellin' you to—pick somethin' outta here. Put it on. Before you come out this cell."

Carol struggled to keep the straightest expression she possibly could.

"Is that—an order?" She asked, doing her best to challenge him. She couldn't be serious enough for it to carry too much weight, but he understood her well enough.

"Damn right it is," Daryl responded, the shake in his voice making it clear that he, too, was struggling to put the faked force behind his words.

"And—while I'm doing all this," Carol said. "What are you going to do?"

"I got work to do," Daryl said. "Don't you worry about me. But I'ma find you later. Make sure you—done what I told you to do."

He pecked her lips to say that he was done. The quick kiss said that he had reminded himself of the work he had to do and the fact that time was ticking away.

"I love you," he said quickly. It was an abrupt end to everything. He considered it done. He had work to do and so did Carol. He started out the cell.

Carol picked up the dress, again, that she'd already decided she actually liked.

"I love you," she said, purposefully putting the sound of an unfelt pout behind it. Daryl looked at her over his shoulder, before slipping through the curtain that gave them what privacy the prison had to offer, to see if she was serious. She gave him a smile and wink to take with him before she playfully poked her bottom lip out at him. He laughed to himself and purposefully furrowed his brows at her in the same put-on scowl that he'd worn earlier.

"I'm serious," he said, attempting to slather the words in threat as they echoed behind him when he stepped into the hallway. "Stop crushin' my damn kid, woman."


	33. Chapter 33

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"It's not that simple," Glenn said.

"It ain't that damned complicated," Daryl said, laughing to himself.

Sometimes Daryl considered Glenn practically a kid and, at that moment, he was a kid that looked more than a little annoyed over the fact that Daryl had practically trapped him while he was mucking out a horse stall.

"I don't think you understand," Glenn said.

"I don't think I do, either," Daryl agreed. "So why don't you enlighten my ass an' give me a better shot at gettin' it?"

Glenn huffed in frustration, but Daryl was unmoved. He had a toddler. He was more than capable of waiting out some frustration. He could stand there, hardly feeling tense it all, if Glenn were to throw himself to the ground, kick and scream, and wail while he rolled around in the hay.

"It's everything that's been going on," Glenn said.

"Everything…" Daryl offered, prompting Glenn to give him more information.

"With Woodbury," Glenn said. "The whole—Governor thing and what do we do with the people? Everyone's really focused right now on…on who's going to come in and who might be leaving. All anyone's talking about is how things might change around here."

"Electricity and running water means a lot," Daryl said. "But I still don't see why the hell that means you can't enjoy a little holy matrimony."

"If we get married while everyone's focused on the changes around here," Glenn said, "then it means the wedding becomes just another thing that happens."

"That's all the hell a wedding is ever gonna be," Daryl said. "It's just another thing that happens."

"It's more important than that," Glenn said.

"Not really," Daryl said. "It ain't. I mean—it is to you 'cause you the one who got married. But it don't really mean shit to the rest of the world. Weren't no damn different in the past, neither. You talkin' about some fancy ass weddings and all—country club variety—and you still talkin' about somethin' that don't matter. Hell—I crashed a couple. People show up. Get shitfaced off your open bar. Throw some birdseed and move the fuck on. Two years later they don't remember a single damn thing about it except if somebody done somethin' like throwed up in the bushes."

"You were a wedding crasher?" Glenn asked.

Daryl frowned at him.

"I get the feeling you don't listen to me sometimes," Daryl offered in response.

Glenn threw his hands up in mock surrender.

"I hear you," he said. "I understand what you're saying. Personally, I don't think I care. Not really. About the wedding, I mean. I mean—maybe I would've cared that it was what my mother wanted, but…" He stopped when Daryl shifted his weight and did his best to silently communicate with him that he wasn't interested in tripping down memory lane with him. "I don't care about the wedding," Glenn clarified, "but women are different. Women really care about that stuff. It's really important."

"Not all women," Daryl said. "Listen—Carol don't care about no wedding. She don't give a shit about—about no flowers or cake or even if you even fuckin' show up. She's just wantin' me to put that ring on her finger in front of Hershel an' promise to her and God and everybody that'll listen that I'ma be married to her forever. It ain't about some stupid wedding for her. It's about—being able to say we married."

"So do it quietly," Glenn said with a shrug. "Get married in your cell or…whatever."

"I didn't say it don't matter to me," Daryl said. "I don't want the whole thing Maggie's worried about, but I sure as hell want a couple damn minutes where everybody just acknowledges they hear what we're saying. That we're gonna spend the rest of our lives—however long that might be—dedicated to each other. I want a couple minutes where they acknowledge that I'm not just some sonofabitch—that I'ma make an honest woman outta Carol. That Sophia's my daughter as much as she possibly can be. That this baby—it ain't no bastard born outta wedlock."

Glenn laughed to himself. He scoffed, really. He still held onto the pitchfork that he'd been using to support himself since Daryl had drawn his attention away from his work and demanded that they have the conversation that Glenn didn't really want to have. Glenn leaned toward Daryl.

"I don't think anybody's questioning your commitment to Carol," Glenn said. "I don't think—I don't think anyone really remembers or realizes the two of you aren't married. It's not like we're running around the prison wondering when exactly you're going to turn her into an honest woman or whatever. You don't even have to marry her. I think everyone just considers it done."

"If it's all the same to you," Daryl said, "I'd like to actually marry her an' make her my wife. Don't mean to inconvenience you with that practice or anything…"

"But it is an inconvenience," Glenn said.

"I don't see how me marryin' the woman that's mama to my daughter and carryin' my other kid is something that's just gonna up and ruin your whole damn life!" Daryl growled.

"Maggie wants a wedding," Glenn said.

"Then let her have a damn wedding!" Daryl barked. "Let her have two or three. Let her get married every damn day of a whole fuckin' week if it makes her happy. I don't give a shit. We'll celebrate the month of Maggie's fuckin' weddings if it makes her happy."

Glenn made something of a growling noise of absolute frustration at Daryl and Daryl echoed it. One of the horses had peeked his head in to see what was going on, but he'd quickly left them. Apparently, there was enough frustration radiating off of both of them that it smelled the barn up with a level of uncomfortableness that made the equine content to take a walk and let it air out before he came in inquiring about fresh hay.

"If you get married first," Glenn said, "and you have some kind of wedding, then it ruins the whole thing."

"That's the stupidest damn thing I ever heard!" Daryl barked. "And I heard a lotta stupid shit in my life!" He added, just to make sure that Glenn understood the gravity of the situation.

For a moment they faced off with each other, both of them nearly panting with frustration. Slowly, they relaxed.

"There hasn't been a wedding in our group," Glenn said. "Not ever. There's been—established marriages. There's been a baby. But there hasn't been a wedding. The first wedding will be special. Everyone will remember the first wedding after the world got turned upside down. They'll remember—the wedding that gave them all hope."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I don't know if you're givin' people too much credit or weddings too much credit," Daryl said. "They gonna remember it, yeah. Gonna somewhat remember all of 'em. You think they ain't gonna remember my kid got borned because Judith done it first? They gonna remember the runnin' water, too, but it don't mean that only the first shower counts."

"It's a big deal to Maggie that we have the first wedding," Glenn said. "She feels like—it'll be special."

"I hope to hell she feels like gettin' married to you would be special no matter what. Hell—Carol would marry me standin' knee deep in cow shit."

"Then marry her knee deep in cow shit and let us have the first wedding! It won't matter to her! It'll matter to Maggie!"

The fight could continue for days. They could go around and around and never get anywhere. It didn't matter how long they did this, neither would yield. No matter Daryl's personal feelings on the young couple's view of things, the fact remained that Glenn was fighting for the woman that he loved to have what she wanted, and Daryl was fighting for the woman he loved to have what she wanted. Neither of them was going to yield before they died of old age.

"Let me put this another damn way," Daryl said. "You an' Maggie want the first wedding. That's fine. We said it was. But you've had time."

"The timing hasn't been right," Glenn said. Daryl held his hand up to stop Glenn from diving back into water that he'd already tread before and rehashing the whole thing again.

"Either the wedding being first is the most important thing or the timing is the most important thing," Daryl said, "but not every damn thing can be the most important thing. So you figure out what matters the most. If it's the bein' first part, then you won't care when it happens 'cause people gonna remember it forever an' ever 'cause it was first. If it's the timing? Won't matter how many people get married 'cause you got married in that sweet, sweet spot that was so damned perfect that people was talkin' about it for ages. But you figure that shit out. Because I don't know what Maggie wants, but I know what Carol wants."

"And why should that be any more important than what Maggie wants?" Glenn asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Because she's my soon-to-be-wife and I care about what she wants," Daryl said. "And she's ready for us to be married."

"Well Maggie's my soon-to-be-wife," Glenn challenged.

"Difference is," Daryl said, "that I don't give a shit about what Maggie wants."

"I'm tired of what we want not mattering," Glenn said.

"Like you so damn put out?" Daryl asked, the hair on the back of his neck prickling a little.

"We wanted to be the first to have a baby," Glenn said.

"Rick and Lori jumped all over that one," Daryl said.

"After Rick and Lori," Glenn said. "But that's not going to happen. Now you're wanting to push us out of being the first to get married."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Ain't nobody pushin' you outta shit," Daryl said. "But what you're wanting ain't to matter. What you're wanting is to be first. And the worst damn part about it is both y'all go around draggin' your feet and then you wanna be pissed that everybody didn't just put their lives on hold for you to get around to what nobody even knew you cared about. You can be first—hell, Carol and I both had plenty of practice bein' fuckin' invisible. We're content to keep doin' it. But we sure as shit ain't gonna apologize for this baby. And you better get a damn move on if you wanna get married 'fore we do."

There was another silent standoff between the two of them, and then Glenn relaxed a little and sighed.

"I want her to have the wedding she wants," Glenn said. "I just—I want her to have the life she wants. All of it. Everything I can give her. Anything I can give her."

Daryl laughed.

"Hell—I understand that," Daryl said. "And we ain't tryin' to fuck up your life and I don't want you an' Maggie to miss out on shit that makes you happy."

"But you don't want us to be happy at your expense," Glenn said.

"I won't apologize for our kid," Daryl said. "Weren't like we made it to spite you. But it's the best damned thing that's happened to us and…I just ain't gonna say sorry about a single damn thing when it comes to neither that baby or Sophia. If it inconveniences you, you're a big boy and you can learn to handle it."

"We're not mad about the baby," Glenn assured him. "We're both so happy for you guys."

"You the one that brung it up," Daryl said.

"But I didn't mean it," Glenn said. "I mean—I meant it, but I didn't mean it. It's just—I think Maggie's starting to get kind of sad that things aren't what they used to be. The whole wedding thing, I mean. I think she had some idea of what her wedding would be like and…"

"It just ain't that world no more," Daryl said.

"It sure isn't," Glenn agreed.

"But that ain't gonna change," Daryl said. "Fact of the matter is that Carol is pregnant. Now—she's got some feelings that's kinda all over the place right now, but she don't like you pointing it out. She's wantin' to be married. And I'm more than ready to be married to her. You want some big fancy-dancy wedding for Maggie? Hell—I'll help you get ready for it or whatever. But if you're going first? You better get your shit together. And I mean quick. It ain't gonna be much. A lil' bitty ceremony where we say some vows and hope y'all happy for us. But it's happenin' day after tomorrow." Daryl shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sorry—but we waited. We're done waiting now. So—you can tell Maggie to piss or get off the pot. Because day after tomorrow? I'm makin' Carol my wife for God an' every asshole at this prison to see."


	34. Chapter 34

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **There will be some follow up on this, but this is part of it.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Before Carol had disappeared with Andrea to do whatever it was that she needed to do, she'd given Daryl the somewhat drastic haircut he requested—a haircut that would remind her of the days when she'd first met him at a rock quarry outside of Atlanta. He hadn't let her see any of the rest of the transformation, though, and he'd let Merle do the back and forth between them when Sophia wasn't satisfied being firmly in one "camp" or another.

Sophia approved of Daryl's transformation, but only after a thirty-minute breakdown, during which time she'd practically had to taste Daryl to be calmed down because she'd insisted that her daddy was gone forever and there was nothing in the world that could offer her solace in the face of the stranger that had, somehow, come to occupy her daddy's space and to steal his voice. She had taken some convincing that her daddy had actually been hidden behind the hair that she'd grown accustomed to, and her breakdown had convinced Daryl that he needed to pay a little more attention to how often he trimmed away the months of hair.

When Beth had come down to retrieve Sophia for the last time, she'd given Daryl the warning that he was expected to come outside in somewhere around a half an hour—and her next warning for time would be a five-minute warning.

Daryl didn't have any fine clothes to wear for his wedding. It wasn't as though they snagged those kinds of things on runs because they weren't practical. What he did have was a decent-looking, blue button-down shirt and the least worn pair of jeans that he owned. He was standing in the bathroom and looking at himself in the mirror—since that was all that their bathroom was good for until the group from Woodbury got there in two days' time to start working on their plumbing—when his brother came in.

Merle cleaned up fine when he wanted to. He hadn't turned down a trim when Carol was handing out haircuts and he'd shaved, too. He had fewer clothes, since he'd left Woodbury with only the clothes on his back and a few things Andrea had grabbed for him, but Hershel had found him a gray shirt that was fairly clean.

"You got the rings?" Daryl asked.

"What rings?" Merle asked.

Daryl's heart tightened.

"Outta that drawer. Like I told you."

"Weren't nothin' in that drawer but'cha damn nasty boxer shorts an' some smokes. I got the smokes, though."

"Don't'cha fuck with me, Merle," Daryl warned.

Merle laughed to himself. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the chain. Carol's engagement ring hung on it—a ring she couldn't wear because her fingers were swollen—but also there were two bands. She wouldn't be able to wear the band for a while, since Daryl had gotten it to fit her finger before the baby had caused her fingers to swell, but she'd keep the chain after Daryl had picked off the band that would fit around his finger.

"Don't lose them rings," Daryl warned.

"Calm down, Darylina," Merle teased. "Your lil' woman's gonna marry you—rings or no rings." He shoved the ring back in his pocket. "Speakin' a' women, Andrea give me these. Told me to put 'em in button holes."

Merle burrowed in his shirt pocket and came up with two relatively uncrushed Cherokee roses. Each of them had just enough stem left on them to thread them through a button hole. He offered them out to Daryl and Daryl helped him get one through his button hole before he put one through his own.

"She meant it for like suits," Daryl said.

"Well—you do what the hell you can," Merle said. "I don't think I seen you this cleaned up since—well—since her funeral."

Daryl swallowed. He knew which funeral Merle was talking about. It hadn't been much of a funeral at all, really. It had been a memorial service, with very few people in attendance, but they'd called it a funeral.

"Don't wanna talk about bad things, Merle," Daryl said sincerely. "I ain't gonna get married but once. This here's the most important day of my life."

Merle laughed to himself.

"Ain't the most important s'posed to be like the days when your kids get borned or somethin'?" Merle asked.

"Thought about it," Daryl said. "But if it weren't for their ma, then there wouldn't be no kids. So—this? Celebratin' her an' the fact that…well…that she was crazy enough to hitch herself to a Dixon? That's the most important thing. All the rest—it comes from that."

Merle stood there, fidgeting with his shirt. It was clear that he was uncomfortable with any kind of feeling that they might talk about right now. He was doing his best, but Merle, like Daryl, hadn't exactly been raised to know how to express a wide range of emotions. And, since he'd known more of Rooster Dixon's glory days as a young and robust asshole, Daryl could admit—even though he seldom did to Merle—that maybe Merle knew even less than Daryl did.

"Come on," Daryl offered. "We might as well—head on out there before Beth comes lookin'."

Merle laughed to himself.

"You expectin' me to—give you away or somethin', lil' brother?" Merle asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Just to stand beside me, Merle," Daryl said.

"Always have," Merle said. "Even—hell—even when you woulda said I weren't there…"

Daryl felt a tightness in his throat. A part of him wanted to argue that Merle hadn't always been there like Daryl had wanted him to be. Another part of him, though, knew that Merle had always been there as much as Merle could be.

And maybe it didn't matter anymore.

"Just be there today, brother," Daryl offered. "That's all that matters."

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Relax, son," Hershel said quietly with a wink to Daryl. Normally, having someone tell him to relax wouldn't make Daryl relax at all. At that moment, though, it did a pretty decent job of it. "I don't think she's making a run for it and those fences are pretty secure—both for getting in and out."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Where are they?" Daryl asked.

Everyone had gathered around. They were all waiting.

"Maybe someone had to go to the bathroom," Hershel offered. "Women—women always have to go to the bathroom. And Carol's expecting. She has to go twice as much."

"Sophia's always gotta pee," Daryl agreed.

Hershel laughed to himself.

"So, we've solved the case of the missing bride," he said. "Is there anything else I can help you with while we wait?"

"You got the vows?" Daryl asked.

Hershel nodded.

"I heard what you want," Hershel assured him.

"None of that—stuff, right? I don't want her thinkin' I own her," Daryl said. "Or even that I wanna own her."

"I heard you, son," Hershel assured him again.

"Here they come!" Beth called out. She was every bit as excited to watch the wedding as anyone. Maybe she was more excited than most of the people gathered there. Still, they all showed up and that was about as much as Daryl really expected.

Daryl's heart thundered wildly in his chest. He'd seen Carol maybe a million times and she'd never once disappointed him. Even covered in mud and Walker muck, she was beautiful. As she came into sight, coming from the prison, with one arm looped through Andrea's and her other hand holding onto Sophia's she was even more beautiful than he'd ever seen her before.

In the absence of anything even resembling a structure designated for marriage, they were marrying in the prison yard. To have something that resembled an aisle, they'd marked off the space with the standing members of their family. When Carol and Andrea reached that point, Carol let go of Sophia's hand.

Sophia was supposed to be the flower girl for their wedding. She didn't have any flowers, though, because Sophia couldn't really be expected to hold onto something like that for any length of time. She was wearing a simple little pastel blue dress that had a yellow flower on the skirt of it—something Daryl had found for her and she'd liked flouncing around in because of the way the skirt fell—and her auburn hair was gathered up into pigtails. The pigtails held down a little flower crown that was clearly made out of some kind of vine—probably the stripped kudzu that grew in abundance around the prison—and was threaded with Cherokee roses.

Andrea, it seemed, had come through for him, after all, because Carol wore a similar type crown on her head and Andrea wore some of the roses tangled up in in her hair.

That was all that Daryl had asked her for, and she'd come through.

Sophia didn't march down the aisle created for her. She didn't drop flowers or do any of the things that movies might have suggested she would. Instead, as soon as Carol dropped her hand, Sophia had grinned at Daryl, loudly declared "Daddy" for everyone to hear, and she'd run down the makeshift aisle as fast as her little legs could carry her before she'd slammed into Daryl's legs and waited for him to pick her up.

Behind Daryl, Merle laughed.

"Like her style," Merle said. "Let's get this over an' done with so we can all get on with it."

Carol was wearing a pastel yellow dress. It had a white band that rested just above the slightest proof that their upcoming arrival existed. She'd given Andrea a dress, too, that was a soft green, probably to make up for the fact that Andrea, like Merle, had come with little more than the clothes on her back.

Andrea walked with Carol down the makeshift aisle, arm in arm, until they reached Daryl.

"I think I'm supposed to offer you her hand or something," Andrea said. "It's the first time I've ever—given anyone away."

"You did fine," Hershel assured her. "Carol? Daryl? Are you ready?"

"Ready," Carol told him.

"Soph? Go see Andrea?" Daryl asked. Sophia agreed and Daryl made the transfer. "Ready," he said to Hershel as Carol slipped her hands into his.

"Dearly beloved," Hershel said, unfolding a few pieces of notebook paper that he pulled from his shirt pocket, "we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. And that's—all I'm going to say from that speech that you've probably heard before. I hope you'll indulge me a moment as I tell you a story." He laughed to himself. "And I know you will because I'm an old man and you've all got nothing else to do—and everyone loves stories. I sat with Daryl for a long time last night and I asked him what marriage meant to him. And I listened. Daryl told me how—he wasn't good with words. He didn't know how to say the things he wanted to say. And then he spent about an hour telling me about the love that he had for a woman that—if I didn't know her—I might not have believed that she was real. Daryl might say he's not good with words, but there's something of a poet in Daryl—as long as the subject of his poetry is Carol."

Daryl's chest seized up with a type of unexpected anxiety and he felt a tremble run through his body. Carol must have felt it, too, because she squeezed his hand in hers and offered him a smile. There were tears on her lower lashes, but none of them had blinked out just yet.

When he glanced at Hershel, the old man was smiling at both of them, neither of his eyes sure where they wanted to land before they fell back on the paper.

"He said he couldn't write vows himself, and Carol hadn't prepared any either. He knew that they wanted me to handle the vows. He wanted to talk to me because—though for Carol the most important thing was simply being married to the man that she loves, he wanted to talk about the vows. He was sure that he didn't want the traditional vows, at least not as they were written, because there were some things there that he didn't like. You see—Daryl liked to have and to hold. He liked to love and to cherish. He especially liked the part about—all of this being for all the days of their lives. But he just didn't like the part where the vows said 'to obey' because, for Daryl, love wasn't about obligation or obedience. Love was something different. So I found what I hope will speak to both Daryl and Carol a little better. Daryl? Carol? Are you ready to take your vows?"

Daryl swallowed and nodded. Carol nodded, too. She pulled one hand back from Daryl just long enough to wipe her eye with her fingertip and Daryl pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to offer it to her. She laughed to herself, but she quietly thanked him as she accepted it.

Hershel cleared his throat.

"There's much more to love than just the wedding vows," Hershel said. "Even the Bible would agree. The Bible, actually, has a lot to say about love. It says that love is patient and kind. It doesn't envy or boast. It is not proud. It does not dishonor others. It is not self-seeking. It's not easily angered, and it keeps no record of wrongs. It does not delight in evil, but it rejoices with truth. Love always protects. It always trusts. It always hopes. It always perseveres. It never fails." Hershel folded up the paper and tucked it back into his pocket. "Those are the characteristics of true love. Do you, Daryl, vow to love Carol—truly and completely, just as those vows suggest—forever?"

Daryl rolled the words around in his mind. He listened to them again, ticked them off in his brain, and smiled to himself. They were good. They were really good. He liked them. He nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "I do. All of that. I do."

Hershel laughed quietly and gestured to Merle.

"You have the rings, son?" He asked.

Merle pulled the rings out and offered them to Hershel.

"On a chain," he said. He cleared his throat and held up the arm that was covered with a metal stump. "I can't—get it open."

Hershel accepted and carefully took the bands off the chain. Daryl watched him as he tucked the chain into his pocket with Carol's engagement ring still on it. With his hands free to manipulate the bands, he offered them out to Daryl. Daryl took the smallest one and Carol offered him his finger.

"It won't fit," Daryl said.

"Just as far as you can," Hershel said. "It's the thought that counts. It's really just a symbol anyway."

Daryl slipped the ring onto Carol's finger and she smiled at it, even though it didn't fit just right.

"Do you, Carol, vow to love Daryl—truly and completely, just as those vows suggest—forever?" Hershel asked.

Carol hummed.

"Can I hear them again?" She asked. Immediately she laughed and she wasn't alone. "I'm just kidding," she offered to Daryl. "I do. Of course, I do. Forever and always."

Hershel offered her the larger ring and Daryl let her slip it on his finger. He marveled at the way it felt there. It was different. It was strange. But it felt good.

"If anyone here has any reason to object to this marriage," Hershel said, "speak now or forever hold your peace."

Daryl glanced around, but nobody had any objections. He didn't expect them to, though. There was precious little that anyone there who was in a relationship could say, in good faith, about anyone else.

"Then with the power invested in me by—this family—I now pronounce you man and wife," Hershel said. "Daryl—you may kiss your bride."

"It's about damn time," Merle offered.

There was a rumble of laughter in response.

"This time, Merle," Carol said, "I agree with you."

Daryl kissed her and she kissed him back—no holds barred. She continued kissing him even after some of the others accepted the end of the wedding and started to break away to talk to one another.

When the kiss broke, Hershel offered out the chain to Daryl.

"You might want this," Hershel said.

"I hate that—my fingers are too big to wear the rings," Carol lamented.

"Your body's busy doing other work right now," Hershel said as Daryl slipped her ring on the chain for her and fastened it around her neck. "Important work. The chain will do for now."

"It'll do just fine," Daryl promised her. "Come here, Soph. Tell me what'cha think. Your daddy's like actually your daddy now. As much as he can be. You know that?"

Sophia came to him, happily abandoning Andrea's arms for Daryl's but she furrowed her brow at his statement.

"Daryl!" Carol said. "Don't confuse her!"

Daryl laughed and kissed Sophia's face. The kiss soothed over some of the confusion.

"Don't worry, Soph," Daryl assured. "I'm your daddy. And just like I'ma love your ma, I'ma love you forever. How's that sound?"

Sophia smiled at him and cuddled his face with her own. It didn't take him long to figure out she was enjoying the feeling of his cheeks without stubble.

"I am love you too, Daddy," Sophia said, still rubbing her face against Daryl's with a great deal of enthusiasm. Daryl laughed quietly at her garbled declaration of love.

"And I love you both," Carol offered. "Forever and always."


	35. Chapter 35

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. Hopefully there's more to come soon.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"I trust Andrea," Daryl said. "I do. But Merle?"

Carol couldn't help but laugh at him. She met him, just as the curtain dropped behind him again, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"And for that, we have Andrea and Merle," Carol said. "All they have to do is get Sophia a bath, read her a story, and get her to bed. They can give her some cow's milk if she fusses for it. They are two capable adults. I think they'll be able to handle this one night."

Daryl was easily distracted, and he'd been down there at least three times to try to peek around and see if his brother and Andrea were successfully handling their first, and possibly only, evening babysitting.

Through dinner, it had been a normal day like any other. They'd done their work around the prison. But as soon as dinner was done, Carol had declared the dishes were someone else's problem and she'd kicked off their honeymoon by warming water for both of them to wash off before a very early bedtime. They'd taken turns playing with Sophia while each other had bathed, and they'd slipped away while the little girl was fully occupied with picking out the flower and vine bits that were still tangled in Andrea's hair.

Thankfully, even though Daryl was easily distracted sometimes, he was also easy to bring back to the moment. He smiled at Carol and kissed her. His kiss was sweet, at first, and she prepared for a simple, gentle kiss that would end as suddenly as it began. At just the moment when he thought to end it, though, it seemed that Daryl thought better of it and he deepened the kiss. Carol moaned into his mouth to show her approval of his choices and the pleasure she got from so deeply feeling his desire.

"So, you haven't changed your mind yet?" Carol teased when the kiss broke. Daryl walked her backward toward the bed and she stopped when her legs bumped against it.

"I said always," Daryl offered. "Meant it. Meant it before we took the vows."

Carol smiled at him.

"I think I meant it the first time I saw you," Carol said.

"It's a nice idea. But the first time you saw me, I don't think you saw me," Daryl said. "Think you saw two crazy ass rednecks that didn't have a half an ounce of sense between them. I think you was busy seein' what else you had goin' on in your life with Sophia barely big as a minute."

Carol smiled remembering those moments. Now that Daryl was in her life, and now that she felt his warmth wrapped around her all the time, even the bad memories weren't a truly scary place to visit. Now she could look back at truly horrible moments in her life and, at the very least, she could see them through the lens of something that was helping to move her on her way toward what she had now.

She was grateful to Daryl for that, too. She didn't want to look back, for instance, on the earliest hours and days of her daughter's life only to see the bad. She wanted to look back on those days from the protected position of knowing what a smart, funny, special little girl her daughter had grown into.

 _Love always protects._ Maybe it even protected in hindsight.

"She was so perfect," Carol said.

"She was," Daryl said.

"You don't remember," Carol said. "All anyone remembers about her was that she was—a squalling baby."

"I don't, neither," Daryl insisted. "Get in that bed, woman."

Carol laughed at him and got in the bed. She moved over, toward the wall, to make room for him to join her. Before he got in bed, he pulled his shirt over his head and slid his pants down to let all his clothes puddle on the floor. He typically did the same thing every night. No matter whether or not they intended to make love—and tonight they surely did—Daryl was always prepared. When Carol gave him a hard time about immediately shucking his clothes before he went to bed, he always teased her that, in the case of a true emergency, he was fully prepared to save them all with his dick hanging out.

He slid into bed and kissed her again before his hands trailed down her arms, squeezing at intervals as he went.

"I remember she didn't cry as much as everybody said she did," Daryl said. "And I remember you'd pop a tit in her mouth just about as soon as she opened it. You know, I never wanted to hold any kid as bad as I wanted to hold that baby."

"I know you said I didn't see you, but I saw you. I knew even then that you weren't a crazy ass redneck with no sense. And even then, I wished I knew you better."

"Know me pretty good now," Daryl offered.

"And you certainly got to hold the baby," Carol teased.

"Mighta—gone an' made another," Daryl said.

Carol nodded.

"I think you did," she said.

"You know—holdin' their mama ain't too bad, either," Daryl offered.

Carol kissed him. She savored the feeling of his fingertips as he explored her body. Some nights, like tonight, when he wasn't feeling rushed and he was feeling simply like spending all the time they had to spend together without another care in the world, he ran his fingers over her body like he was reading her in braille. His simplest touches could make her feel appreciated in ways she couldn't express.

"Forever," Carol said. "Forever and…always. It was a beautiful wedding, Daryl. You made it perfect."

"I didn't do anything," Daryl said. "It was Hershel that found the vows, though I did like them a lot better than the others."

"They were perfect," Carol assured him. "And it was your inspiration that made him choose them. And the roses?"

Daryl smiled.

"Yeah," he said. "I was thinkin' about those. You know—when I first found the roses while I was lookin' for the antibiotics for Soph and we were thinkin' she was gonna die, I thought they were for you. Like the legend. Hope for a mama in the face of…of losin' her kid or, you know, possibly losin' her kid. I thought they were—hope for me that I was gonna find what I was lookin' for and save her."

"And they were," Carol assured him.

"But today? I was realizing they're a lot more than that," Daryl said. "And I don't know—at least today I was thinking it—but I don't know if they're not more for me than they were for you."

"Do you want to explain?" Carol asked.

He accepted another kiss from her and he rearranged his body so that she could come closer to him. He drew trails over her skin and, every now and again, she shivered. She hadn't taken off the t-shirt that she'd put on for show before bed, and Daryl kept trailing his finger against her skin where the bottom of the shirt rested.

"Today—with you and Sophia," Daryl said. "I was thinkin' maybe it was that the flowers was always there to give me hope…not that I wouldn't lose somethin' I had, but maybe that I'd find somethin' I didn't quite have just yet. Like those antibiotics, but it was you and Sophia I was gonna find. This whole life. I was gonna find it."

"I'm glad you found it," Carol said with a sigh, nuzzling against him. "Because it means I found it, too. And Sophia found it."

"And hell—Andrea and Merle today. Both of 'em wearin' the roses. We lost 'em both. Mourned 'em for dead."

"But we found them," Carol said, smiling to herself over the connection. "In a new life."

"A whole new life," Daryl said. He moved his hand around, slipping it under the shirt that Carol already knew would shortly be removed from her body. He trailed his fingertips up and rubbed them against her stomach so that her muscles bunched with the tickling sensation. The gentle touch of his hand there and the way he was looking at her—his eyes on her, so intently, like he could hardly believe that she was real—sent a shock through her in just the way that he knew how to do to get her attention any time he wanted it. "Got us a new life right here, too."

"This one you didn't find," Carol said. "This one you built. You know—we really cheated. Tonight was supposed to be our first time. I wasn't supposed to bring a baby to the honeymoon."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"We ain't been nothin' if it ain't unconventional," Daryl said. "What you say we try a little honeymoon tradition, though?"

Carol smiled and kissed him again. She quickly pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it to join the rest of his clothes in the puddle on the floor.

"I thought we'd never get around to it," she said.

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"You in trouble now anyway," Merle said.

Together, he and Daryl were working to clear bricks and debris from the yard of the prison. Part of the prison had been destroyed—probably back around the time of the outbreak—and they had slowly picked away the Walkers back there to clean the area and secure it with new fences. They intended to clear it and use it as part of their expansion, but that clearing was going to take time and patience—especially since it involved demolition and sorting resources to make sure they didn't waste anything they could reuse in future building projects.

Demolition was a good job for Merle. It wore his ass out, especially to do the job one-handed, and that kept him more centered and in control of himself than anything else. Ever since he had been a kid, Merle had seemed to get into more trouble when nothing kept him tired.

They weren't alone. Nearly everyone was working on clearing things, pushing and dumping wheelbarrows, sorting supplies, or even just doing simple tasks like pulling nails out of boards and straightening the nails that might be used again. They had big plans to expand, but it was going to take all hands to make sure that everything they wanted actually happened.

Daryl and Merle were somewhat off to themselves, though, because Merle was in a particularly grumpy mood and most people didn't seem to want to deal with it. Daryl could ignore him, like the buzzing of a gnat in his ear, for the most part.

And the work would tire Merle out and mellow him out in a good way.

Not too far from them, Daryl could see Carol sorting bricks and things with Andrea while Sophia diligently arranged a small collection of rocks that Carol had likely given her to keep her busy and away from the things that would be more dangerous for her.

"Yeah, yeah," Daryl said, throwing bricks into the wheelbarrow next to him. "I'm waist deep in shit. And lovin' every damn minute of it."

"All they gotta do is get you to marry 'em," Merle said. "That's all the hell a woman wants. All she's after. Get you to marry her. Then it all goes to shit. You'll see—you say them vows and any good thing you had, gone."

"I don't care what anybody says about you, brother," Daryl said. "There's somethin' of a preacher in you."

Merle laughed.

"You know as good as I do it all goes to shit," Merle said.

"I know I been told that," Daryl said.

"An' you ain't seen it with your eyes? Seen it a million times with any of our friends," Merle said.

"You mean the assholes we hung out with to get drunk, Merle? The ones that was slidin' you dope on the side? I'm startin' to think maybe it weren't the marriage that made things go to shit, ya know?"

"Happened every time. Some woman would dangle a kid or some shit in front of some sorry asshole," Merle said. "Claim it was his an' he ain't had no idea. Either that or she'd get the poor fucker pussy-drunk an' get him to marry her. Next damn thing you know, he ain't gettin' no ass, most his damn paycheck's goin' to diapers, an' she don't do shit but bitch 'cause it ain't enough. It ain't never enough."

"An' then he gets drunk as shit an' beats the hell outta her," Daryl said. "Right? Says it was her own fuckin' fault 'cause she drove him so crazy that he wasn't man enough to take his balls an' walk away—cool his ass down."

"Even if he stands there and takes it, it don't mean that she ain't doggin' his ass every damn day," Merle said. "You tellin' me that you ain't seen it?"

Daryl laughed to himself. Once upon a time, Merle had the ability to crawl up his spine like he was playing knick knack paddywhack on every single one of his vertebrae. Either he'd lost that ability, though, or Daryl was still buzzing so good from his new wife's sweet wake-up call that he could do little more than feel sorry for his brother.

"Seen it in more ways than one," Daryl said. "Carol has too. Hell—maybe one reason we're both so hellbent and determined not to let it go that way."

"You think them that seen it go that way meant for it too?" Merle asked.

"No," Daryl admitted. "But—we gonna fight it actively. Besides—I don't get a paycheck, but if I did? I'd spend it on diapers if that's what my kid needed. You wait 'til you have a kid, Merle, you gonna see. Hell—I'd give Sophia my fuckin' heart if she needed it. I'd only be sorry that I wouldn't be there to see her use it."

"I ain't havin' no damn kids," Merle said.

"Andrea know you feel that way?" Daryl asked.

"She might as well," Merle said. "Because I ain't fuckin' doin' it, brother."

Daryl laughed to himself. When he was younger, he might have gone right along with Merle. He didn't know any better, after all, and Merle was all he really had to teach him about the ways of the world. His mama died too early—before she could really teach him more than the fact that he didn't want to be like his old man—and his old man had taught him nothing that he wanted to hold onto beyond the fact that he hoped to never be a single thing like him.

Merle had taught Daryl nearly everything he knew—the good, the bad, and the ugly. But at least he'd tried to teach Daryl something about life. For that, Daryl had to be thankful. Merle couldn't exactly help it, after all, if there'd been nobody to ever guide him in any decent direction.

And it was only Carol that had taught Daryl that what Merle taught him about relationships came from a place of fear. Fear, after all, sounded a lot like anger.

"I'm married and my wife ain't bitchin' at me," Daryl said. "She'll tell me when to straighten my ass up sometimes, but it ain't bitching. And—trust me, brother, I'm still gettin' ass. Damn near more than I know what to do with. My damn dick's almost tired. I just about can't handle it all."

"You ain't been married twenty-four hours," Merle pointed out. "You can pretend your lil' woman's got you thinkin' that I'm blowin' smoke out my ass, but you know the kinda women I'm talkin' about."

"I think you hit the nail on the head there, brother. I do know the kinda women you talkin' about. Hell—see Lori damn near chewin' Rick's head off every time he gets near her. Got Hershel talkin' about figurin' out how we set up divorce around here for when such a thing is just damn necessary. And I know men like you been talkin' about, too. Maybe what I'm saying is that…maybe it ain't about the marriage. Maybe it's about not bein' that kinda man or that kinda woman."

Merle stopped working for a moment. He stood there, and wiped his hand on his shirt. He regarded Daryl and, perhaps, just a little of what Daryl said sunk in. He was sure, though, that Merle would need to stew on it for a while before he decided if he did or didn't agree.

"You know, brother," Merle mused, "there might be somethin' of a damn preacher in you, too."

Daryl laughed to himself at Merle using his own words against him.

"Just make sure you drop your money in the offerin' plate on your way out," Daryl said. "Get your ass back to work. Them Woodbury people'll be here like tomorrow an' we gonna be put off this job."


	36. Chapter 36

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Daryl—what's that?" Carol asked.

Daryl smiled. He was clearly proud of himself. It seemed that Sophia was even more proud of him.

"What's it look like?" Daryl asked.

"It looks like my baby is going to war," Carol said with a laugh.

Sophia didn't really know what was happening, Carol was sure, but she was as pleased as she could be with everything. She stood beside Daryl, holding onto his finger, and danced in place by wiggling her bottom from side to side. She took turns grinning at Carol and Daryl with her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth. A giggle escaped her every time Daryl looked at her and gave her a smile or some other expression meant to stir up joy in the three-year old.

"OK—I mean the helmet is camo, but I found it in one of the boxes that Glenn brought, so it weren't like I was shoppin' with a ton of options," Daryl said.

"Is that a bicycle helmet?" Carol asked.

Daryl pulled his finger free from Sophia's grasp and tapped his finger against the top of the helmet. Sophia laughed and grabbed at her face where the helmet straps crossed her cheeks.

"What's this, Soph?" Daryl asked.

"My head," Sophia offered.

Daryl laughed.

"I know it's your head," Daryl said. "What's this on top of your head? What's this—here. On your head?"

Sophia stared at him open-mouthed.

"I think she might have forgotten the word," Carol said. "If you prepared her before this."

"Fine," Daryl said. "This here is a helmet, Soph. Can you say helmet?" The little girl gave him the best rendition of the world that she could muster. "What's it do, Soph? Sophia—why'd Daddy put it on your head? What's it do?"

"Keeps my head safe!" Sophia declared.

Daryl smiled at Carol.

"You're very proud right now," Carol said.

"I can't help how smart she is," Daryl said. "Figured with them comin' today an' we gonna get started on work—figured she might be taggin' along with me. I was thinkin' that I didn't want her to get hurt. I don't think nobody would mean to, but with tossin' things and people movin' around…"

"Or she can stay with me," Carol said. "We're cleaning cells for everyone and then I'll be working with the group that's coming on cooking and laundry for power saving. It's a lot safer for Sophia than electricity, plumbing, and—and solar panels."

"She's got cover," Daryl said, tapping the top of the helmet again. "Protection. She can come and go as she pleases. Whether that's up here with you, down there helpin' Hershel with things, or followin' me around to see how to keep our panels going once we have 'em all up and runnin'."

"Fine," Carol agreed. "We'll let her choose what she wants."

"The helmet ain't really why we come," Daryl said. "We had news."

"What's that?" Carol asked.

Daryl bumped Sophia to sway her body.

"Tell her your news, Sophia," Daryl said. Sophia stared at him open-mouthed and furrowed her brow at him. He laughed to himself. "Tell her what you done today." Sophia clearly considered his request carefully and then she sucked in a breath.

"I feed the pigs!" She declared.

"You did?" Carol asked, trying to make sure her enthusiasm matched Sophia's. It was never truly possible to match the little girl because her excitement over every single mundane event in her life was truly inspiring.

"Mmmm hmmm," Sophia declared. "I did! I feed the pigs!"

"Not that, Sophia," Daryl said.

"I did!" Sophia said, furrowing her brow at him. She pointed down toward the livestock pens like they could see some memory of her past achievements. "With Papa!"

"I know he took you to feed the pigs," Daryl said. "But what else did you do? What'd you do 'fore we got here that was really exciting and I said to you that we had to tell your Ma? What'd you do in the prison—after you told me that'cha wanted to go do it?"

Sophia carefully considered Daryl's request again and Carol waited patiently with a smile on her face to encourage her daughter. Sometimes Sophia's stories took time, and sometimes they were difficult to follow, but Carol knew that the best way to keep Sophia improving was to keep her talking and to keep her telling stories. And everyone, no matter how big or small they were, liked to feel like their stories were valid.

The moment Sophia was finally coaxed into finding the right memory, her eyes went big and her smile returned.

"I pooped!" She declared loudly.

"Close enough," Daryl offered. "Not only did she poop, but she pooped in the potty. An' not only that, but she was the one that come to me—stopped what she was doin'—to tell me her tummy hurt an' she wanted to poop in the potty."

If anyone had told Carol that she would celebrate defecation—or any release of waste, really—with as much enthusiasm as she used to celebrate every successful trip to the potty, she would have called them crazy. It was a big deal, though, and she and Daryl celebrated it accordingly.

Carol didn't know at what age babies had once started to potty train. She didn't know at what age they were supposed to potty train. What she did know was that—whether they'd done right or wrong by Sophia—she and Daryl hadn't even attempted such a thing until they'd found the prison and gotten settled. The road offered them no consistency or stability. Likewise, when they'd first arrived at the prison, it had been impossible to tell whether or not it would work out. It wasn't until they'd bothered building their first two outhouses for the benefit of everyone, that they'd even really started working with Sophia. Soon, perhaps, they would have indoor toilets, even, to teach Sophia about something she'd never really imagined before.

As a result, Carol assumed that Sophia might be a little delayed in the area of potty training, but she was learning. She didn't really fight them on it, and she enjoyed copying them so it had helped to simply let her follow Carol to use the bathroom nearly every time she went, but their greatest issue was getting the little girl to tell them that she needed to go—especially when there were much more exciting things to do and see.

So, they celebrated, unembarrassed by anyone who might see or hear the three of them involved in a hearty round of congratulations for having used the potty, Sophia's tiny victory over, really, her attention span.

When they were done, in addition to the kisses that Carol heaped on her daughter, she pressed a kiss to Daryl's cheek as she transferred Sophia over to his arms from her own.

He smiled at her.

"If I knew I got kisses," he teased, "I'da worked harder to get her to go. She pissed down by the storage barn earlier, but since she just pulled down her pants and went without sayin' anything—I didn't mention it."

Carol laughed to herself.

"She just pulled her pants down and went?" Carol asked.

"Had the right idea," Daryl said. "Pissed all over her pants, but it was a good effort. I just washed her up and changed her. I get another kiss for that?"

Carol kissed him, this time, on the lips. She smiled against his lips, too, when she Sophia pressed a hand to her cheek—and she imagined one to Daryl's—and very quietly whispered "kissies."

"You taught her to do that," Carol teased.

"I taught her to look out for her old man," Daryl responded. "We gonna go start settin' out tools. Make it so they can see what we got on offer. I'ma take her to her Papa Hershey for a while. You need anything?"

"I'm just setting up cells," Carol said. "Sophia—be good and listen to Papa Hershel, OK? OK, Sophia?"

"OK, Mommy!" Sophia responded. "Bye bye!"

Carol waved bye to her daughter and blew her a kiss when Sophia did the same. Then she quickly returned to where Andrea was busy hanging out soggy sheets over the line to try and offer clean accommodations to their guests.

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"From this cell down to the end is open," Carol said. "Downstairs we'll have a few open if we need them. Don't worry if there aren't any blankets or sheets. We're washing those and getting them back on the beds as quickly as the sun can dry them. They'll be ready by tonight. For any of you that are going out to work with—with the animals or the farming or electricity or plumbing or construction or…or anything that's happening out there? I know you're anxious to get to work so just feel free to choose a cell, leave your stuff inside the cell or—if the cell is being picked apart at the moment, just leave it outside the cell. We'll be happy to put it inside for you as soon as we're done in there."

She waited a few moments while there was something of a scramble. There were many cells in the block that were unoccupied and unclaimed, but they wanted to clean them on a need-to basis. They hadn't been sure how many people would be coming from Woodbury to temporarily stay at the prison during the information exchange. The cells they'd chosen would cover a decent amount of people, without requiring them to bunk up if they didn't want that option, and they could always clear more cells if it was necessary.

Some of the people might choose to stay longer, and the option was certainly open to them, but they were expected to be staying about two months at the least. Together, the people of Woodbury would offer their skills to help get solar panels installed like the ones that backed up Woodbury when their generators failed.

In addition, they would help with plumbing, electricity, and going on some runs to find generators.

If there was time left over, or people found themselves otherwise unoccupied, they would help expand the fences, clean up the back of the prison, and advance into parts of the prison that hadn't been cleared of Walkers yet.

Carol and her family had agreed to exchange some assistance of their own.

With generators being a purely temporary solution for lack of power, and the grids not being entirely reliable, the people of Woodbury were beginning to panic over their future prospects. They hadn't learned to live "the hard way" and they weren't prepared to take care of themselves if their power should fail or if they needed to save strain on the grids.

At the prison, they would learn how to manage the cooking and cleaning without electricity. They would learn some sewing and some other simple chores to make life easier. They would get a lesson on farming and caring for livestock. With any luck, they'd find some additional livestock on runs for both the prison's stocks and for Woodbury's soon-to-be-built stock.

The people of Woodbury would be taught to hunt, and they'd be taught to build valuable things such as smokehouses and good barns for storing their supplies and food.

It would be an informational and cultural exchange in every direction. That was the idea behind it. They would help each other in ways that would benefit both communities and help them to thrive. The people of Woodbury would take what they learned back to the others that remained in Woodbury. After the exchange at the prison, some of the prison group would also have the option of going to Woodbury to help out there if they wanted.

They would become sister communities in every way and, through helping each other grow stronger, they would essentially help themselves.

When many of the people assigned to other jobs had cleared out, Carol was left with the few that, she assumed, would primarily be there to learn the more "domestic" chores.

"Y'all are the cleaning, cooking, and supplies crew?" Carol asked

"And medical," one woman offered.

Carol smiled at her.

"First-aid and medical will be handled in the evenings," Carol said. "That's me, too, but Hershel will be joining us. We can do that inside and he can only work with the animals and plants while it's still light enough to see. For now? We're getting started with our first lesson. And our first lesson is how to finish cleaning these cells, get the sheets and blankets washed, and start lunch—because we're going to have a lot of hungry people and not a lot of time to prepare."

"It sounds like a lot of work," another woman offered.

"It absolutely is," Carol assured her. "So, we better not waste any time."


	37. Chapter 37

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Just to let everyone know, I'm back to work, so I'll be updating when I can.**

 **I also want to give a disclaimer that I'm not all that observant when it comes to scenery on television. That means that places are largely "designed" in my imagination and may not match anything you've seen on your screen. I'm putting this out here for those who are sticklers about things being just like they appear on the show. I'm begging suspension of disbelief as to the layout and design of things. Please and thank you!**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

They all assigned themselves to different tasks and duties. Their new friends from Woodbury wanted to get started, and it was important to jump right in and make it feel like they were all working together. They didn't want to create an "us" and "them" situation, rather, they wanted the two groups to be able to blend. The first step toward making that blending possible was to let everyone start getting to know each other, to start discussing their interests, and to start showing off their talents.

Whether or not it was one of his talents, Daryl had a particular interest in the solar panels. Woodbury had a great deal of panels in storage and they knew where to get others—at least that's what Daryl's group had been told. They would start with what they'd brought on a trailer and, when they started to require more, they would be going on a run to acquire the necessary items.

Daryl wanted to learn how to install the panels. He wanted to learn everything about them. They interested him more than any other project that they intended to take on at the prison. His intention had been to immediately join the group that was working on them, but he'd gotten side-tracked when Hershel had asked for his help getting things going with those who were coming in to learn about their livestock practices.

Daryl was late getting to the solar panels, but he hoped that "better late than never" applied in this situation, and he hoped he could still catch up on everything he'd missed. Half a day, after all, couldn't possibly be that much time.

Daryl double timed his steps up the prison yard and stopped only long enough to take a piss behind the guard tower in order to save himself the effort of heading for their outhouses. When he was done, he washed his face and hands with some of the soapy wash water that was waiting out there for any worker that passed by and needed to rinse off a crust of dirt. As he rounded the corner of the guard tower, the group came into view that was responsible for preparing the prison for the solar panels and, later, for installing them. He seemed to have caught them on a bit of a break. They stood around talking with each other in pairs or small clusters of three.

Daryl's eyes were immediately drawn to Carol, like they were in almost any circumstance, and he noticed her talking with one of the men that he'd met before. The man's name, if Daryl remembered correctly, was Tyreese or Tyronne or something of the sort. He was one of the people who had stepped into an important role in the current leadership committee of Woodbury.

At the moment, he was drinking from one of the cups that was nearly bucket-sized. The cups that Carol carried around when she was taking water to everyone while they worked. Somewhere, nearby, if Daryl scanned for them, he'd find the rest of Carol's "crew" for the day. They'd likely be delivering clean water, as well, in the large cups and in five-gallon buckets.

The man was talking to Carol as he leisurely took his time drinking the water. Daryl stopped where he was and leaned against the side of the guard tower. The man wasn't just taking his time drinking water—which he was certainly allowed to do, and drinking too fast when you'd worked up a good sweat could be a bad idea anyway—and he wasn't just talking to Carol which, of course, was also allowed. He was smiling at Carol. And, immediately, Daryl knew that smile. His gut knew that smile.

And whatever he was saying must have amused Carol at least a little because the smile she was wearing didn't look as plastered on as it did when she was simply humoring someone.

Daryl couldn't quite believe it.

The man had been at the prison half a day and he was flirting with Carol. He'd been at the prison half a day and he was already putting the moves on Daryl's wife.

Of course, in all fairness, Daryl could admit that he might not realize that Carol was Daryl's wife, but it didn't make him feel any less incredulous at the moment.

Daryl wished he'd brought Sophia with him instead of leaving her down at the animal pens—where, arguably, she was happiest to be—so that he could walk over and have a reason to approach Carol and make a scene of their relationship. There was no better reason to introduce the fact that he was married to Carol than to bring their daughter and make the trade off to leave Sophia with her mother. It would be the perfect opportunity to mention that they were happily married and they had a family—and this guy had easily picked the wrong tree to bark up.

As it was, it would be obvious what he was doing if Daryl were to simply stroll over there, drop an arm around Carol's shoulder, and extend a hand to the man to introduce himself as Carol's husband.

Before Daryl could make a decision on how he wanted to approach things—or if he wanted to take a walk and try to figure out a better way to approach things—he saw Carol put her hand to her forehead and look around the prison yard. There were pockets of people busy with tasks all over and, without a doubt, she was searching for someone. Daryl stepped backward and ducked into the shadow of the guard tower until she'd finished her scan.

Maybe, even, it was him that she was looking for. Maybe she wanted to introduce him to the new person she was engaging in conversation. Maybe she was telling him, right then and there, that she was happily married to a man who could probably figure out the solar panels on his own if he had to.

Daryl saw when the man made his move. He saw him reach his hand out and catch the upper part of Carol's arm for an affectionate squeeze. He was smiling too damn much for any conversation that he needed to have with someone he'd just met.

He asked her something. Daryl saw the expression cross her face. She moved back, just a little. She smiled, but it was different than the smile from before.

Daryl smiled, too, when he saw her run her hand over the front of her shirt, pushing it down to show off the barely-mentionable baby bump that she enjoyed mentioning with great frequency—the baby bump that Daryl encouraged her to talk about as much as she liked.

"That's right," Daryl said, smiling to himself when he saw the man's expression change. His smile, too, wasn't what it had been before. The pat he gave her on the shoulder wasn't the same as the squeeze from mere seconds before. "Yep—she's married, asshole," Daryl muttered to himself as he helped himself to a cigarette.

He waited another moment and watched the interaction just a little more from his practically covered spot. Carol continued to talk to the man. After all, she'd never really intended to do more than to talk to him. But he looked sorely disappointed and he was having a hell of a time hiding it.

The ratio of women to men in Woodbury was nowhere near even, and the women grossly outnumbered the women. The man had no need to come shopping for a woman at the prison. In fact, the number of people who lived at the prison was a great deal lower than the number of people who lived in Woodbury, and most of the women at the prison were already involved in a relationship.

There really wasn't much of a dating pool at the prison, and Carol certainly wasn't one of the available women for someone who was, perhaps, looking for a woman that they hadn't seen before.

Besides, Carol was married. Newly married and happily married.

Daryl stayed, smoking his cigarette, long enough that he could be sure that his arrival to where Carol and the man stood talking wouldn't coincide too closely to the man's disappointment, and then he strolled over to where they were. He wasn't sure, exactly, how to approach them and he feared that he would, without intention, make things awkward or give away the fact that he'd seen practically their whole interaction.

Thankfully, though, he didn't have to figure out how he wanted to approach Carol. She saw him coming and stretched out her hand in his direction, so he simply followed her lead and took it.

The smile that flashed across her face was familiar. It was a smile that he sometimes though of as being especially his.

"Daryl—this is Ty," Carol said. "Tyreese."

Daryl extended a hand in the man's direction and Tyreese shook it with a firm grip. Daryl was sure to return the favor.

"Nice to meet you," Daryl said. "I think—I think we mighta met."

"We did," Tyreese assured him. "When we came to discuss the arrangements for everything."

"I don't forget faces," Daryl said. "But I am known to forget names."

"Tyreese is heading up the solar panels," Carol said. "I told him you were really interested in learning about them. That's been your main interest since you discussed an exchange. But I didn't know where you were."

"Hershel asked for a hand," Daryl said. "Making introductions with the livestock and showing everyone a quick look at how we do things. I got tied up." He made his apology half to Carol and half to Tyreese, then he directed his attention to Tyreese. "But—I do wanna know about the solar panels. All about 'em."

"Yeah," Tyreese said. "Absolutely. You haven't missed much. We're mostly measuring and—just getting ready more than anything."

"You do this before the virus hit or…this some skill you picked up since then?" Daryl asked.

"I was a carpenter," Tyreese said. "I dabbled in bricklaying and solar panels. I dabbled in a few other things, too, but it's really been the carpentry that's come in handy since we got to Woodbury."

"We're happy to have you," Daryl offered. He set his face as well as he possibly could. "You married? Got any family?"

Something flashed across Tyreese's features. A smirk, perhaps, played at his lips. He looked at Carol and Daryl didn't entirely appreciate the way he looked at her. He didn't hide well the fact that he took in her, with a quick flick of his eyes, practically from head to toe.

She didn't seem bothered by it, though. She smiled at Daryl and then at Tyreese.

"No," Tyreese said. "I'm not married. Widowed, actually. We had a daughter. I'd rather not get into it all at the moment, though. I've still got—a lot of work to do."

"Of course," Carol said. "We understand. A lot of people don't like talking about their pasts."

"I've got my sister now," Tyreese said. "Sasha—she's going to be working some around here."

"And we're happy to have her too," Carol said.

"I lost my brother," Daryl offered. "But found him again—seems impossible to think about it. You know him. Merle."

"I remember him," Tyreese said. "I think everyone around here remembers Merle. Some more fondly than others."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Hey, you ain't tellin' me nothing," Daryl said. "Carol's my wife. I didn't marry her until—well, just recently," Daryl said. "But we've been together for a long time."

"Since after the outbreak," Carol said.

"My point is," Daryl said, suddenly feeling a little bad for privately rubbing Tyreese's nose in the fact that he had damn near everything he could dream of, especially now that he was really remembering how very lucky he was, "that—the past is behind us. For better or for worse. But there's a lot of damn future ahead of all of us. Especially now that—we're all workin' to really build something worth having."

Tyreese smiled, sincerely this time.

"Yeah," he said. He handed Carol the water cup he'd been using. "Thanks for the water, Carol. Daryl—what do you say you start up the ladder with me while everyone's finishing up? I'll catch you up on what you missed."

"I'd appreciate it," Daryl said. Tyreese started off toward the prison and Daryl quickly turned and pecked Carol's lips. She smiled at him. "Don't you go off getting into no trouble," he teased. "Remember—you're a married woman."

Carol laughed to herself.

"So, you were around," she said.

"Were you thinkin' of doin' something if I weren't?" Daryl asked. She narrowed her eyes at him and he laughed. "I gotta check. But—just remember, I'm always around."

He pecked her lips again and left her with a smile as he headed toward his next job of the day.

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

 **AN: I just want to note that, in regard to characterization and character backgrounds, I usually write Michonne and Tyreese as a hybrid of comic, television and my imagination. I hope that doesn't bother anyone too badly!**

 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you think!**


	38. Chapter 38

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"OK," Daryl said, balancing Sophia on her feet in the little pen that she used as a bed. "You all set?"

As soon as he released her, the three-year-old walked around her little pen and surveyed her possessions. Most of her things had been removed from the pen for the night and were occupying space in the red plastic tub that served as her toybox. It sat next to her little dresser and the extra box of blankets and other items that belonged to her. Against the other wall, Judith's things occupied space.

In the little playpen, Carol had made a pad that fit snuggly in the space and could easily be covered and uncovered with fresh sheets she sewed to snuggly fit the pad. The mattress made Sophia's space more comfortable. Sophia also had a small pillow that she very often ended up cuddling more than she used it as a proper pillow.

Sophia arranged her pillow as she wanted it and she sat down next to it. Without her asking, Daryl selected her lamb from the box and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she declared, hugging it to her face.

"Your pajamas is plenty warm enough or you still cold?" Daryl asked. "You still cold?" Sophia shook her head at him. "You like me. Like a furnace. You ain't never cold. Your Ma? She's always cold. Good for me, though. Like sleepin' with an air conditioner. I'ma put this blanket right here, Soph." Daryl hung one of her blankets over the side of her pen. "If you get cold, you can wrap up with it. You can call me, OK? But'cha got a blanket right here if you get cold. OK?"

"OK, Daddy," Sophia confirmed. "OK."

"You want anything else in there? While you sleepin'?" Daryl asked.

"Baby," Sophia offered. She started to stand up. "My baby…"

"Just sit down," Daryl said. "I'ma get your baby."

Sophia settled back down and Daryl quickly found the doll. He put it over the side of the pen and Sophia thanked him for it as she found the perfect spot for her baby to sleep.

"You good now?" Daryl asked.

"You can tell me story now," Sophia offered. Daryl might not have laughed at the words if she hadn't finished them off by tipping her head to the side and smiling at him. The little smile lifted her eyebrows. It spread slowly across her lips. It was completely and entirely the smile that her mother used whenever she was convinced she "got" Daryl with something.

Daryl never let either of them know that they really "got him" a lot less than they thought. He was usually a step ahead of where they thought he was. He liked to let them both think they "got him" regularly, though, because he loved that smile—on both the faces that were capable of making it in just such a way.

Daryl laughed to himself and sat down on the floor. He leaned against the side of the little pen and peeked in through the mesh.

"Yeah, OK," he said. "A story. I hear ya. But—you gotta lay down, Soph. Get your lamb. Get comfortable."

"Book, Daddy," Sophia offered, in case Daryl had suddenly gone entirely stupid and forgotten where stories came from.

"I hear ya," Daryl offered. "But this story? It's better'n a book story, Sophia. This one? It's comin' right outta your Daddy's head. It's a story that—it's gonna be just for you. Mostly 'cause I ain't got it in me to read about that damned llama or monkey or whatever tonight. So—you ready?"

"I'm ready," Sophia offered.

"You ready, ready?" Daryl asked.

Sophia giggled.

"I'm ready, ready."

"You really, really, ready, ready?" Daryl asked.

Sophia giggled louder and Daryl knew he had to stop. It wouldn't be long before Carol stopped by to scold him for riling Sophia up if her laughter got too loud. It was bedtime and it was time for settling down, not riling up.

"I'm ready, Daddy!" Sophia barked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Shhhh…OK, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Settle down. Get'cha…get'cha lamb, Sophia. Here goes. Once upon a time there was this…there was this squirrel. And his name was Daryl."

"That's what…that's…it's…" Sophia stammered out, clearly unable to find her words. Daryl stopped her before she could rile herself up too much.

"That's my name," Daryl said. "I know. I'm Daddy and Daryl. But this squirrel? To start? He was just Daryl. Just like me…'cause you know, Soph, I weren't always Daddy."

Sophia sat up and looked at him, mouth open.

"Uh huh!" Sophia declared. "Uh huh! You was, Daddy, too!"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Shhhh…" he hissed through the mesh. "Now you gotta be quiet an' lay down, Sophia, or I gotta go. Your Ma's gonna be in here an' she's gonna be on both of us. She's gonna be mad if you don't lay down an' get ready for bed. Now's the time for gettin' ready for sleepin', Sophia. It ain't the time for havin' heated discussions. Now lay down an' settle, Soph."

"You was Daddy," Sophia whined.

"I'm Daddy," Daryl offered, throwing the small child a bone. "I am. I'm Daddy. I'm your Daddy. But—Soph—they was a time 'fore you was borned when I didn't know I was gonna be Daddy. You see? Because—I didn't know you was comin' into my life. I was just boring, sad, nothing…Daryl."

"Don't be sad, Daddy," Sophia offered, keeping her voice at a dramatic whisper to avoid having Daryl remind her that this was quiet time.

"I'm not sad no more, Sophia," Daryl offered. "I'm not. But—before I had you? Before I even knowed your Ma? I was sad. But I'm not sad no more."

"Because you Daddy," Sophia said.

Daryl didn't know if it was a question or a statement. Sophia was doing as he asked. She was lying down. She was on her back with both knees up in the air, and she was rubbing the blanket part of her lamb across her lips. Because of her soothing, she was also muffling her words.

"You right," Daryl said. "I'm not sad no more 'cause I'm Daddy. Did you know it was you that done that for me? It was you that…made me Daddy? You my baby, Soph. And you always gonna be my first baby—no matter what. I love you."

Sophia moved the blanket away from her lips and smiled.

"You my baby, too, Daddy!" She declared.

"I'm your baby?" Daryl asked.

"I love you!" Sophia said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah, OK," he said. "That's fine. But—you're my baby. I'm your Daddy. And—we both love each other. How's that? That's OK?"

"OK, Daddy," Sophia confirmed. "OK."

"You wanna hear about this squirrel or you don't?" Daryl asked.

"I wanna story," Sophia whined, already suspecting that Daryl might cut her story time short.

"Then you gotta lay down, Soph," Daryl said. "Get comfortable. Get quiet. You ready?"

"I'm ready," Sophia confirmed.

"So, there was once this squirrel, see? His name was Daryl. An' he lived all alone in this big ole tree with only one other squirrel. His brother squirrel. And all he did was collect nuts and eat them nuts 'fore he went to collect more nuts."

"'Cause him was hungry?" Sophia asked.

"Yeah—he was hungry," Daryl said. "So—I mean it weren't no great kinda life, right? But the squirrel was alright 'cause he had his tree an' he figured that…that maybe he didn't need nothin' more'n his tree an' the nuts that kept him from bein' hungry."

"His brother…"

"He had that, too," Daryl said. "But then, one day, there was this noise. And so, Daryl the squirrel—see? He went to see what the noise was. And he's goin' toward the noise and he's seein' all the other forest animals—the deer and the raccoons and the possums—and they're all goin' to see what the noise is, too. And when they get there, to the edge of the forest, they see that—it's all these trucks an' things an' they all just parked there. And they got machines that's gonna come an' chew up the forest. Like—takin' all the trees. So, Daryl, like them other forest animals, he knows he's gotta go. He's gotta—take his brother an' they gotta go an' find a new forest. They gotta find—a new tree somewhere far away from the machines that's gonna chew up the trees."

"Do them get a new tree?" Sophia asked.

"You gotta listen, don't'cha? To find out. Lay your head back down, Soph. If you don't, we might not have enough time to get 'em outta the forest."

"Can they carry they nuts?" Sophia asked. "Them gonna be hungry."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Not all of 'em," Daryl said. "But—they got 'em enough nuts to get started. So—they get their nuts and they get started. Headed outta the forest…lookin' for a new forest, right? Never knowin' if they gonna find a new forest and a new tree or…even more squirrels. Just knowin' they gotta go with all the other forest creatures."

"I don't like it," Sophia offered.

"You don't like my story?" Daryl asked.

Sophia rolled on her side and faced him. She rolled her bottom lip out at him.

"I don't like it," she said. "They sad."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Hey, I understand," Daryl said. "You don't like a sad story. So—how about we just skip some of it? How about if…I just sorta tell you the sad bits real quick an' then we skip to the not sad bits? Would'ja like that? Would that be OK?"

"OK, Daddy," Sophia said. She sniffed and rubbed her face on her pillow. Daryl was sorry that he'd made her sad. Sophia was pretty sensitive and pretty empathetic. She'd feel for Daryl the squirrel as much as she felt for anyone or anything.

"So—they was runnin' for a while, right? Even—they even caught 'em a ride on the back of this deer, see? He was goin' so fast an' he let 'em ride just holdin' onto his rack. An' they meet up with these other squirrels that's runnin' from the machines that was chewin' up trees. And it takes 'em a long time, but they find a new forest. Only—they gotta—you know—they gotta get settled. They gotta make this forest their home. Pick out trees an' gather nuts so the winter don't catch 'em starvin'."

"They get a new tree?" Sophia asked.

"They get a new tree," Daryl confirmed.

"I'm glad, Daddy," Sophia said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I know you is," he said. "But—that ain't even the best part of the story, Sophia. So, they get 'em a new tree and they got their nuts and all. Right? Daryl's got him a new tree an' he's just packin' it full of nuts so he ain't gonna be hungry, right?"

"With his brother?" Sophia offered.

"With his brother," Daryl said.

"What kinda—Daddy? What nuts they eat?"

"They eat—acorns, mostly," Daryl said. "Some hickory nuts, maybe pecans, an' dogwood berries. But that's not the point, Soph. So—they got like all this that they need. Right? And really this tree? It's better than their old tree."

"Why?" Sophia asked.

"Just is," Daryl said. "You want the best part of this story?"

"Yes, Daddy," Sophia said.

"They got this great tree, right? And nuts and berries and everything they could want in this new forest, right? But the best thing is—one day while Daryl's out lookin' around the forest an' he's gettin' more nuts an' stuff? He runs into this other squirrel. And she's a pretty squirrel, Soph. She's just the prettiest squirrel he's ever seen. And she's just gigglin' an' happy to see him, too."

"She weren't sad?" Sophia asked.

"I think—maybe she was. Before," Daryl said.

"She has a brother squirrel, too?"

"She has a sister squirrel," Daryl said. "So—she's happy to see Daryl, right? Because she likes the look of him. And he likes the look of her. And that's what squirrels want, right? They wanna find them someone that they can—ya know—like. So they don't gotta be sad an' they don't gotta be alone. So, these squirrels, they spend the whole rest of their fall just playin' together an' getting ready for the winter. And when the winter comes? They decide they gonna make 'em a house in that tree together."

"With brother squirrel?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You the smartest kid in the whole world," he offered. "You know that? Don't you worry about brother squirrel, OK? He moved to the tree next to 'em. It's a real nice tree, too. All stocked up with nuts an' berries an' everything they could want an' he lives with sister squirrel 'cause he's been playin' with her all fall, too. So, they all settle in for the winter, right? Gotta stay warm an' get fat an' happy an' ready for the spring. So the spring comes, right? An' Daryl squirrel is runnin' an' playin' with his pretty girl squirrel an' they lookin' for nuts an' enjoyin' the world like you do in the spring when you a squirrel. And Daryl squirrel—well he starts runnin' off all the fat he's stored up through the winter, ya know? Just—he's gettin' lean an' downright skinny. But his pretty lil' girl squirrel? She don't get no leaner. She's just as pretty an' fluffy as she was durin' the winter when he was cuddlin' with her to stay warm."

"I like fat squirrels," Sophia offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Me too," he said. "So—one day, Daryl squirrel asked her about it, ya know? An' she says he's been lookin' for nuts an' she's been buildin' up their nest all nice and soft. Because she tells him that she's gettin' all fat makin' them lil' baby squirrels."

"Baby!" Sophia squealed.

"Shhhh…." Daryl said, swallowing down his laughter. "You gotta calm down or your Ma's really comin' to get us. An' she ain't gonna be happy if we get her up outta the bed from readin' her own story to come an' tell us our story's too loud."

"Sorry, Daddy," Sophia offered. "I'm sorry."

"It's OK," Daryl said.

"They got them a baby?" Sophia asked.

"They did," Daryl said. "They got them a beautiful baby girl squirrel. She was pretty just like her Ma. And Daryl squirrel? He was so happy. Because then? He was more than just Daryl squirrel. He was Daddy squirrel, too."

"I like it," Sophia offered.

"My story?" Daryl asked.

Sophia hummed in the affirmative.

"I like it," she repeated.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I like it, too, Soph. It's one of my favorite stories. If you're good—tomorrow I'll tell you about…about how their little baby squirrel growed up and how…how they got to do it all over again when they decided they wanted more baby squirrels. Would you like that?"

"I like that," Sophia confirmed.

"Then you gotta get some sleep, Sophia," Daryl said. "You gotta get some rest so you won't be cranky tomorrow and you won't have a hard time bein' good, OK?"

"OK, Daddy," Sophia agreed.

Daryl stood up. Without a blanket, there was no reason to tuck Sophia in. Still, he pressed his fingers to his lips and deposited the kiss on Sophia's cheek—the same one where Carol had pressed her kiss, before she'd sent the little girl off with Daryl to be tucked in, so that she could have a few moments of simple peace and quiet to relax and wait for Daryl's return to their cell.

"I love you, Soph," Daryl said.

"I love you, Daddy," Sophia said.

"Sweet dreams, Soph," Daryl said.

"Sweet dreams, Daddy," Sophia echoed.

Daryl smiled to himself as he slipped out of the cell to let the little girl sleep. He headed directly toward his own cell so he could spend the rest of his night blissfully curled up in the nest his wife had built him. It wasn't a tree, and they weren't squirrels, but they were happy. That much of the story, after all, had been true.

111111111111111111111111111111111111111

 **AN: No worries, the scene from the last chapter hasn't been forgotten. As you know, though, sometimes our couple has other things to attend to before they get quiet time together to rehash their day.**

 **I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!**


	39. Chapter 39

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl wasn't entirely dry when he'd put on clean clothes after washing off, but it didn't matter much. Even as the quilt-curtain that Carol hung to give them privacy dropped closed behind him, Daryl was peeling off the clothes he'd put on. They would be clean to wear the following day. A little clean water, after all, hadn't hurt them in the least.

In the bed, Carol sat perched up on both their pillows. She would remain that way until hew as ready to come to bed, and then she'd give him his pillow back. She was reading one of her books, and she didn't even look up at him when he came in—at least not that he saw.

"I thought you washed off earlier," Carol said. "When you bathed Sophia."

"Planned to," Daryl said. "Mostly just washed my hands and face, though. Soph was kinda wired up tonight. Had to run her down to get her in the water, and I damn near had to hold her down to get her washed. It weren't like some nights when I can talk her into just keepin' me company or helpin' me by washin' my back for like ten minutes."

"You should have told me she was bad," Carol said.

"Didn't say she was bad," Daryl responded.

"Well—trouble," Carol said.

"Didn't say that, either. She was three. And there's been a lot goin' on around here all day. Lots of new faces an' things to do an' she was just—three."

"You should have told me," Carol said. "I would have helped. I wouldn't have made you handle it all by yourself."

Daryl laughed to himself.

It had been years since her asshole ex-husband had started decaying in the Georgia dirt near a rock quarry located outside of Atlanta. It had been years since the asshole had last left a mark on her body. It had been years since he'd called her some demeaning name or demanded that she make his life better than any life could possibly be or face the consequences of his wrath. It had been years since he'd suggested, in his own not-so-subtle way that it might be better for everyone—but mostly for him—if they were to go ahead and do something like break Sophia's neck because, as practically a newborn, she cried too much and inconvenienced the asshole.

It had been years since Carol had to worry about Ed Peletier, but he was still with her. The words he'd said and his years of training her to respond in certain ways had stayed with her. Daryl understood, though. He had his own demons and he didn't expect hers to fade when his had been around for even more years than hers.

She still worried that Sophia—who he loved beyond explanation—would irritate him to the point that he might, somehow, come to regret his decision to take on the role as her Daddy.

"You was busy enough cleanin' up after feedin' all them people—which you did a great damn job organizing, I might add," Daryl said.

"I could have handled it," Carol said.

"You could have," Daryl ceded. "But it was more important that you get off your feet just a lil' bit. Hershel said you doin' good. Doin' great. Says you handlin' carryin' that little one better'n anybody probably would. But that don't mean that you don't need to be kind to your body and rest some. Besides—I think I did an OK job. Sophia's clean. I'm clean. She's in bed."

Carol smiled at him from her spot in the bed. She put her book down on the nightstand and folded her reading glasses on top of the book. Then she spread the pillows out and moved over to clearly make Daryl's spot available to him.

It was such a simple way to welcome him to bed and to welcome the finish to another day. Something so simple, though, made Daryl feel incredibly warm and instantly relaxed.

He shucked off what was left of his clothing and Carol raised the blanket for him as he reached the bed. He slipped under the blanket. And immediately she somewhat rested her body on top of him and caught his face with her fingers. She turned his face toward her and kissed him with the kind of kiss that made him shiver.

"Whatever I done, let me know," Daryl teased. "I wanna do that shit again."

"You're just you," Carol said with a satisfied sigh. "You do that every day. And I appreciate it every day."

Daryl rearranged himself so that Carol could sink down next to him and rest with her head on his shoulder while he held her. He used the arm that she wasn't weighing down to rub his hand over her skin.

"I appreciate you every day, woman," he mused.

"I know," Carol said. There wasn't any hint of arrogance there. It was a simple statement. He did a good enough job of showing her how he felt that she was becoming comfortable with those feelings. It was difficult for both of them, from time to time, but they were learning to fully appreciate that there was nothing but honesty in the other's feelings. Carol leaned up enough to kiss his chest, and then she dropped back down into the hole that Daryl had made for her. She rubbed her foot up and down the lower part of Daryl's leg and across the top of his foot. "It won't be long before—I'd have my belly all over you in this position."

Daryl raised up the cover with his free arm and glanced under there. Carol was partially on her side, curling around him. She wasn't wearing any clothes. Her belly was already bigger, perhaps, than it had once been, but not by much more than it would be from a well-enjoyed meal. Daryl reached his hand down under the cover and rested his hand on her belly.

"Lookin' forward to it," he offered, rubbing his palm over her skin. She sighed again and wiggled a little to get closer to him. He didn't dare to tell her that there wasn't any way possible for them to be closer. He liked the feeling of her rooting into him—whether she did it intentionally or without thinking.

"Should I be offended or flattered that you think I'm a fat squirrel?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"So, you were eavesdropping."

"I was passing by," Carol said. "Your youngest was making demands on my bladder. On the way back, I heard just enough of the story that I wanted to hear a little more. It wasn't eavesdropping. It was—listening to the story."

"Well, next time, why don't'cha just come in an' listen?" Daryl asked.

"Because that's your time with Sophia," Carol said. "And just like she likes Mommy time, she likes Daddy time. I want you two to have that time together for as long as you enjoy it."

"So, you just listen in?" Daryl teased.

"It was only for a minute!" Carol said. "I just heard part of it. I promise. Just—where you called me a fat squirrel that was with Daryl squirrel."

"They was squirrels," Daryl said. "It's you who decided to identify with the fat squirrel—which I might just say was a pretty, fat squirrel. I said that, too."

Carol laughed to herself. She rubbed her face against Daryl, nuzzling him, and he closed his eyes to the sensation. And rubbed his hand over her belly again.

"You think I'm fat," Carol said. "The truth is there."

"I don't think you fat," Daryl said. "I think you gonna get fat."

She pinched him just hard enough to make him pull away and he laughed at her. She immediately pulled him back.

"Asshole," he said. "You do that again an' I'ma get out the bed, an' then where will you be?"

"In the bed," Carol said. She snorted at her own lame joke and Daryl couldn't help but laugh at her.

"Tell me the truth, though, is there somethin' wrong with me tellin' Sophia a story about a squirrel who—who gets fat 'cause she's makin' baby squirrels for their lil' squirrel family? It's what the hell happens."

"No woman likes to be called fat," Carol said.

"You growin' a whole other person in your gut," Daryl said. "You gotta get fat to make room for the kid to grow."

"But it sounds bad," Carol said.

"Why does it sound bad?" Daryl asked. "It's like sayin' it sounds bad to say that somebody's gonna be bald if their hair falls out or they gonna be gray-headed 'cause they get older. It ain't bad. It's just a fact. You a lil' bitty woman. If we gonna put a whole baby inside of you—which that part's been done already—and then it's gonna grow big enough to be born healthy into the world, then you gotta expand to make room for such a thing to happen."

"It's just society, Daryl," Carol said. "It's never been OK for a woman to be fat. Or gray-headed, as you say."

"You're gray-headed," Daryl pointed out.

"You're getting closer and closer to sleeping in Sophia's bed," Carol said. Daryl swallowed back his smile. There was a touch of warning there, but not enough for him to believe that she was really serious. Something had maybe struck a nerve—or, at the very least, she was a touch uncomfortable—but she wasn't really mad.

"Then just tell me the truth," Daryl said. "Be straight about it. What's so damn bad about—you bein' gray-headed?"

"It means I'm old," Carol said.

"Every day, every damn one of us who's lucky gets older," Daryl said.

"Well it's not OK for women," Carol said.

"You supposed to die? Because—honestly? I'd damn well rather you didn't have no hair at all than that you weren't here," Daryl said.

"We're supposed to stay eternally youthful," Carol said. "Didn't you get the memo?"

Daryl laughed to himself. He hugged her into him with the arm she was resting on and brought his hand out from under the cover to hug her a bit better.

"I think I threw that shit in the trash," Daryl said. "I like your hair. And I like you. Just like you are."

"And we're not supposed to be fat," Carol said. "So, if you could just—call me pregnant? Not fat."

"I'll call you fuckin' Batman if that's what the hell you want me to call you," Daryl said. "But I still don't understand it."

"Fat isn't desirable," Carol said. "It just feels like…you won't find me desirable."

"Fuck that," Daryl said. "I can't wait for you to get fat. You know that? Because it's gonna mean that you healthy. It's gonna mean Hershel's right and you're tickin' off them trimesters. It's gonna mean that baby's healthy, an' it's that much closer to getting here so we can get to know it. I'm excited as shit about it."

"But you might not find me attractive, then," Carol said.

"You right," Daryl said, making sure to slather on a thick layer of sarcasm for Carol's benefit. "That sounds just lie me—fuckin' quit wantin' my wife 'cause she's havin' me a baby. That sounds like just the kinda asshole I am."

"OK, when you say it that way," Carol said, "maybe it's not fair to you."

"Thank you," Daryl said.

"But I still don't like fat," Carol said.

"Fluffy?" Daryl asked.

"Fine," Carol said. "But only for my Pookie."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Fair enough, Smooshy," he teased.

"There are assholes like that, though," Carol said.

"Oh, I believe it," Daryl said. "I think my brother might would be one of 'em until someone busted him in the nuts real good or something."

"Ed was like that," Carol said. "He made comments about my body all the time. And it was worse when I was pregnant with Sophia and…things started to change."

Daryl changed their positions for both of them so that he could hover over Carol and kiss her. She seemed to enjoy the kiss, so he found a comfortable position on his elbow to let it linger for a long moment. He dropped his hand to rub over her belly and she responded to him by moaning into his mouth and making her contribution to the kiss a little more dramatic.

Daryl broke the kiss to smile at her. Her cheeks were pink and he knew that look in her eyes. He loved that look in her eyes.

"Hey—you know you're desirable, right?" Daryl said. "Fuck—I thought I was gonna have to beat your boyfriend off with a fuckin' two-by-four. He ain't damn near made in the gate good an' he was off after you. He knew what the hell was the best goods around here."

Carol laughed to herself, but the look on her face didn't entirely fade.

"He was just…"

"Go ahead," Daryl said, interrupting her. "Go ahead and try to explain away the truth. You a beautiful, desirable woman, Carol. Just accept it. He wanted him a piece of that. Sorry asshole did his best to hide it, but he was sore all day that he couldn't do no more'n dream about it. I had to be real careful not to be smug as shit."

"How do you think I feel with two dozen new women around here?" Carol asked. "All of them young and beautiful."

Daryl laughed.

"You attracted to some of them? I mean—I ain't gonna judge. But they oughta know you're married, too."

"You know what I mean," Carol said. "There's a shortage of men, you know. I've heard about it all day long."

"Damn shame," Daryl teased.

"Every man could have his pick," Carol said. "I've heard some of them talking. They stop when I come around, but I can still hear them. You could have your pick."

"Good thing I done picked," Daryl said.

Daryl could feel her tensing. He could tell that the conversation was striking a few raw nerves. He kissed her again, focusing on bringing her back to where she'd been when he broke the last kiss. He rubbed his hand over her breasts and squeezed them gently, mindful of the fact that she'd already complained that they were growing more tender than they once had been, and ran his hand down her body. Slowly she relaxed and he broke the kiss to immediately kiss her jaw and down her neck.

He came back to hover over her.

"I felt jealous today when he was talkin' to you," Daryl said. "I knew you weren't gonna do anything. I knew you wouldn't—wouldn't do that. But it didn't mean that it didn't turn my gut. Make me a lil' bit angry at him that he'd even try."

"I felt that way when I overheard some of them talking about you," Carol admitted. "The women who were helping me."

Daryl nodded his understanding.

"You'd do somethin' for me?" He asked. "I mean—if you don't hate it too much?"

"Anything," Carol said.

Daryl kissed her again. She caught his lip with her teeth for a moment before she released him. He panted out in response. He already wanted her, and such a move only made him want her more.

"You ain't gotta worry," Daryl said. "About them…girls or whatever you worried about. Because—any time you worry about 'em? I want'cha just to think about one thing, OK?"

"OK," Carol agreed.

Daryl slipped his hand down. She was wet. He felt like she was always wet when he wanted her to be wet. He used his thumb to roll the nub that got her attention and she arched her back and sucked in a breath. He moved to rub her with his finger, teasing that he would enter her, and then he hooked his finger inside her while he harassed the nub. She bent her head back and opened her mouth.

"Keep your eyes on me," Daryl demanded. She made a noise of agreement at him. He held her eyes. "You ain't gotta worry 'cause—I done picked what the hell I want. You hear me?" She repeated the sound and closed her eyes as he focused on working the nub with as much pressure as he knew she liked. She squirmed in pleasure and he didn't let up. "Look at me," he said. "You said you'd do what I asked you to do. Look at me."

She opened her eyes.

"Anything," she panted.

Daryl was trying to be serious for the moment, but he had to fight to keep from smiling at simply how happy everything about her made him—even the way she was looking at him. She'd given herself over to him entirely. That, in itself, wasn't that remarkable, but he could feel that she was absolutely relaxed.

He could feel her trust, and that was one of the sexiest things he'd ever felt.

"Tell me—that I ain't got nothin' to worry about," Daryl said.

"You don't," Carol panted. "You don't…you don't…oh…you know you don't…"

"Good?" He asked, continuing his work. The response of her hips and the movement in her back answered his question. "You my wife," Daryl said. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," Carol panted out. "I'm…yours."

The way she said it, and the way she was looking at him, nearly threatened to push Daryl over the top. He stopped his work and she whimpered in response. He laughed in his throat.

"Open up, woman," he said, changing his position. "I'm about to claim what the hell is mine."

She smiled at him and wrapped her arms around him, bringing him to her for a kiss as she rearranged herself to give him complete access to her body.

He shivered too, when he slipped entirely inside her and she tightened her muscles around him to squeeze him from inside. She leaned her mouth close to his ear, and her breath and the word she breathed out combined to send a chill down his spine—a welcome one.

"Mine."


	40. Chapter 40

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Daddy! Daddy! Da-DEE!"

The loudness, quickness, and enthusiasm varied every time the word was yelled up toward the roof. The speaker was trying out a variety of pronunciations and stresses on the two syllables that were necessary to form the word.

"I think that's for you," Tyreese offered with a low and throaty laugh from where he was working.

"What give it away?" Daryl asked.

"You're one of the very few people around here that answers to Daddy," Tyreese said. "At least that I've encountered. And I can recognize Sophia's voice."

"Daddy!" The yell became, suddenly, sharper and a great deal more hysterical. This time, it ended by being punctuated by the most sorrowful cries that Daryl had heard in some time. If it hadn't been for the fact that he knew that Sophia was surrounded by people and perfectly safe, he might have reacted dramatically to try to reach her and save her from whatever was killing her.

"Jesus," he muttered. "You reckon they're dismembering her?"

Tyreese laughed again.

"Probably skinning her alive to cook for lunch," he offered.

"I'll be back," Daryl said. He carefully arranged his tools so that nothing would go sliding down the roof. He had a feeling his toddler was down below, and the last thing he wanted was a hammer or something like that to go sliding down and fall on her.

"Take your time," Tyreese said. "It's time to break for a while anyway."

Daryl hummed at him, half in appreciation, and made his way slowly down the roof so that he didn't fall on Sophia in place of the hammer that he'd secured.

At the bottom of the roof, he found the ladder, but first he simply sat down and peered over the side.

Sophia was sitting on her bottom, below and just beside the ladder, looking up and crying miserably.

Carol was not far from her. It appeared she'd been called over by the new level of hysteria from which the little girl seemed to be suffering.

"What happened?" Daryl asked.

"Nothing happened," Carol said. "But she won't go down for a nap. Beth even offered to lay down with her and let Sophia sleep in her bed."

Sophia's next piteous declaration of his "name" came out almost as "Wawee" and was punctuated with the sound of someone drowning and gurgling through a throat full of liquid. In response to it, Sophia choked on her own sorrow and began hacking. Carol was gathering up their soggy and heartbroken daughter when Daryl descended the ladder. Coughing and sputtering, Sophia reached for him and he took her immediately from Carol's arms.

Carol looked, honestly, like she could use a nap as much as Sophia.

Almost immediately, Sophia stopped howling. The tears were real enough that they didn't stop flowing right away and her sobs kept choking her in something akin to hiccups.

"Shhhhh," Daryl cooed, holding her against his chest. "Shhhh." He patted her back and slowly she calmed. Carol smiled at him. "What?" He asked, barely giving voice to the mostly mouthed question.

Carol didn't drop her smile. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders.

"It just reminds me of when she was a baby," Carol said, "and you used to get her to stop crying when I couldn't."

"Weren't that you couldn't," Daryl said, "was that everybody needs a break."

"It was that she loves her Daddy dearly," Carol said. "Same as today."

Sophia was rooting her face into his neck. It almost hurt because she was aggressively rooting him. She was exhausted and he didn't need anyone to tell him that. She hung heavy and almost limp in his arms.

"She's still a baby," he offered.

"She's growing up," Carol said softly.

"Still my baby," Daryl said.

Carol smiled softly.

"Always will be," she said. "For both of us."

"Speakin' of babies," Daryl said, "I think the lil' one's drainin' you. You lookin' about dead on your feet, woman. Maybe you oughta go take you a nap."

"Can't," Carol said. "This many people in the prison? We've been working nonstop. Between the cleaning and the cooking—I only left long enough to check on Sophia when she shooed Andrea way."

Daryl leaned and pressed his lips to Carol's cheek. Sophia perked up a little and picked her head up off his shoulder. Carol smiled at the kiss and pursed her lips for another. He gave her one and she came back for more when he tried to pull away.

"Hungry?" Daryl asked, laughing to himself. She didn't look as tired as she had second before. There was something else in her expression. Her pupils dilated quickly.

"Starving," she said. Daryl felt his body respond to her words. He knew she wasn't talking about food.

"Lemme see about takin' care of her," Daryl said. "Get her to N-A-P with B-E-T-H. Then we'll see about gettin' you a snack. Roundin' it off with a nap."

"There isn't time," Carol said, practically mournfully.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I ain't askin'," he said. "I'm tellin'. And you point me in the direction of the asshole that tries to say there ain't time. There's a half a dozen women workin' with you an' Andrea. Thirty more ramblin' around here pretendin' to do shit. There's time, an' you gonna take it. So, you might as well take this lil' bit of time while I'm with Soph to go an' get Andrea set up on what she needs to handle while you're gone. If they can't handle this shit for a couple of hours, maybe we got no business lettin' 'em all go on anyway."

Carol smirked, but raised her eyebrows at him.

"Little ears are listening," she warned.

"I know," Daryl said. "Go do what you gotta do. We goin' for a walk."

Carol nodded her head. She leaned and kissed Sophia's cheek. The toddler looked at her with sleepy eyes and almost purple eyelids.

"I love you, sweetheart," Carol said.

"Love you, Mommy," Sophia offered quietly.

Now that she was in Daryl's arms, there seemed to be little need for words. She was satisfied. He imagined that a short walk around the yard would be all it took to send the little girl off to slumbering. Daryl watched Carol as she moved slowly—heavily—back toward where the small mass of women was gathered. Daryl couldn't tell who was preparing for lunch, who was doing laundry, and who was really just waiting for Carol to come and command them. Andrea seemed to be doing her best to shuffle the newer arrivals around. Daryl was confident she'd be able to handle things when Daryl returned to relieve them of their leader.

As Daryl started his walk, he became quickly aware that he was accompanied. He could feel the presence of someone, and he glanced over his shoulder to see that Tyreese was a few steps behind him. The man was smiling, and he waved. The wave, if it were meant for Daryl, would have been a bit creepy when coupled with the smile. When Daryl glanced at Sophia, though, and realized that she was giving the big man a very toothy—and slightly flirty—grin, Daryl laughed to himself over Tyreese's amiable response to the little girl.

"You like that?" Daryl asked Sophia.

She looked at him and smiled with the same toothy grin. She laughed, the sound escaping her in a burst, before she turned back to look at Tyreese. She squealed at him when he made a ridiculous face at her and waved again. She buried her head against Daryl's shoulder in a playful manner. Having her head resting against him once more, though, clearly made her sleepy again. She suddenly scrubbed her face against him again.

Tyreese caught up to him, then.

"Sophia, you know Ty." Daryl said. She peeked at Tyreese, and Daryl craned his neck a bit to see her.

"We met a couple of times," Tyreese confirmed. Daryl already knew it to be true. Sophia's shy act was just that—it was something she was choosing to perform. She was flirting with Tyreese, and he was playing back with her.

"I think she might like you," Daryl said. "She only flirts with people she likes. Me, her Uncle Merle, Andrea, Papa Hershel…it's really kinda like an honor if Sophia's gonna flirt with you like that. Makin' eyes at you an' laughin'."

"Stop, Daddy," Sophia offered, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

He patted her back and she settled, again, against him.

"You don't like me talkin' about your flirtin'?" Daryl asked. "That's private?"

"Stop, Daddy," Sophia said, this time with a little more force behind the words. She tensed like she was about to push against him and sit up so that he'd take her more seriously.

"Shhh," he soothed. He rubbed her back. "I hear ya. I won't say nothin' else about it."

Sophia settled in against him again and let out a satisfied hum as she found the sweet spot of comfort with her face buried in the crook of his neck. He kept rubbing her back as he walked. She was desperate for sleep. He could tell that. She would drift off soon if he let her. The only thing that would stop her was if he let her know, in any way, that's what he expected.

Tyreese kept step with him as they walked through the yard.

"You like kids?" Daryl asked. He felt that he already knew the answer, but he was looking for conversation and the question offered itself as a way to fill the silence between them.

"Doesn't everyone?" Tyreese asked.

"Not at all," Daryl said. "My brother—sometimes he says he don't like kids."

"You don't believe him?" Tyreese asked.

"Sometimes I think kids scare him," Daryl said.

Tyreese laughed to himself.

"You have to excuse me, but I've known Merle a while," Tyreese said. "He's an asshole. I'm sorry because—I know he's your brother."

"No offense," Daryl said. "He's my brother—so I already know he's an asshole. It ain't like you tellin' me some big secret."

"I've never seen him scared of anything before," Tyreese said.

"That just tells me you don't know him," Daryl said. "Merle ain't scared of no boogeyman. And they ain't a man drawin' air that scares him—as far as if he's after Merle. Merle don't spook easy. But there's things that scare Merle that—ain't what traditionally scares everybody else, I guess."

"Maybe that's true for all of us," Tyreese said. He was quiet for a moment. "What scares you?"

Daryl laughed to himself. The question was truly innocently asked. There wasn't a hint of malice in the man's voice. For two weeks they'd been working together on one project or another and Daryl was starting to count the man as a very good acquaintance, even if calling him a friend was a little premature. Daryl forced the laugh out to cover the uncomfortable feeling that the question still pulled up in him.

"Lil' damn personal, don't you think?" He asked.

Tyreese laughed to himself.

"I'm sorry, man," he offered. "Didn't mean nothing by it. Thought that's what we were talking about. Forget it. Not a big deal."

Daryl heard absolute sincerity in the words. Tyreese wasn't offended. He was truly ready to drop it right then and there. He wouldn't ask again and his first questioning had simply been to continue the conversation as they stretched their legs.

Over the past two weeks, moving from job to job and back again, they'd shared tidbits of themselves. They'd shared nuggets of information. Some of the information had been quite private. Tyreese had once been married. He'd once had a daughter. He had neither now, and Daryl didn't have to know what had happened to his family. Tyreese didn't offer that information, either. In fact, he didn't mention his family to anyone except Daryl, and Daryl didn't mention it either. Those weren't his wounds to dig around in, after all, and Tyreese knew his reasons for hiding his past until he was ready to share it.

Daryl could understand that. Tyreese didn't know, after all, that Sophia wasn't Daryl's biological child. He didn't know much of Daryl's or Carol's past, really.

They all had things they kept to themselves until the moment just made it right to share.

At this point, Tyreese had a sister. She was his only family in the world and he was ferociously protective of her.

His question to Daryl had only been an effort to get to know someone better that he was, perhaps, hoping to call a friend.

Daryl cleared his throat.

"Losin' this," Daryl said.

"What?" Tyreese asked.

"You asked what the hell scares me," Daryl said, trailing his fingers over Sophia's back. He could tell from her steady breathing that she was either asleep or dreadfully close to it. "Losin' this. That's what the hell scares the life outta me."

Tyreese nodded; his brow furrowed.

"The prison?" Tyreese asked. Daryl could tell that there wasn't a hint of sincerity behind the question. He felt obligated to ask it, perhaps, but it was clear that he didn't mean it.

"No," Daryl said. "I mean—I don't wanna lose it neither, but if we did? Hell—we'd be alright. Rebuild somewhere else. Somethin' else. Losin' this—my family. That's what scares me."

"Understand," Tyreese said, barely making the word audible and clear.

"What scares you?" Daryl asked.

Tyreese sucked in a breath, held it, and breathed it out slowly with a bit of a grunt. He didn't scold Daryl for asking him a difficult question. Instead, he considered the answer carefully.

"I already lost it. So, never finding what you have again," Tyreese offered.

The answer hit Daryl like a punch in the gut. Around them, the prison practically buzzed with life. Everyone was busy or, at the very least, worked to appear busy. They hopped from task to task like bees gathering pollen from a field of flowers.

They were gathering up promises of a better future.

Daryl leaned his head just enough to hug Sophia a little closer to him. She didn't stir. She wouldn't stir, either, when he made the transfer, soon, to Beth's arms so that she could go down for a nap.

"I hope to hell you find it, man," Daryl offered. "And soon."


	41. Chapter 41

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **We have a little time jump which is explained in the chapter.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Soph…Sophia…come 'ere," Daryl said.

Sophia left off playing with the cars she was rolling across the bathroom floor to come to where he was working, fixing pipes that had busted from a previous year's freeze. For the past couple of months, they'd been working steadily toward equipping the prison with solar energy—among other things—and very soon they'd be ready to take the showers for a test run. Among many other odd jobs that Daryl had held down for short stints of time in his life, he had worked with plumbing. He joked that he knew only enough to be dangerous, but he still knew more than most of the people that had ended up at either the prison or Woodbury.

In fact, Daryl would finish working on the plumbing at the prison before he took a short trip to Woodbury to help teach some of their people how to handle simple plumbing problems. They had to prepare for the winter, after all, and busted plumbing was always a possibility as temperatures dropped.

"Hi, Daddy," Sophia said as she reached him.

"Hi, Soph," Daryl said. "You still gonna help me?"

"I help, Daddy!" She declared happily.

"Gimme that wrench then, will you?" He asked. He pointed toward his tools that were just barely out of reach. He could go for them, but that would require that he get up and Sophia was a good helper when she wanted to be.

Sophia trotted over to his tools and held up an item for his inspection. He shook his head.

"Not that one," Daryl said. "Wrench, Soph. The one looks like this." He drew a poor rendition of a wrench in the air and Sophia furrowed her brows at him with the same expression he'd seen on Carol's face a million times when she working out a problem he'd presented her with. She selected another tool—this time a screwdriver—and held it up. Daryl shook his head and she picked up another. This time it was the wrench, and he praised her profusely before waving her over.

She gladly brought him the wrench, but as he wrapped his fingers around the tool, she traded the tool for his hand. She caught his hand in hers, holding it tightly in a double-fisted grip.

"Oh!" She declared loudly enough that the sound echoed around the empty bathroom. "Oh, Daddy! Ouch! Ouch, Daddy!"

Daryl jumped, nearly snatching her off her feet for the hard hold that she had on his hand, to sit up. He thought, at first, that something was wrong with her. He thought that something had suddenly hurt her. He expected to sit up and find a snake or something of the like that he would have to beat to death with a wrench before he figured out how to make Sophia feel better.

But he realized, as soon as he'd sat up and she'd stumbled around still holding onto his hand, that it wasn't her own "ouch" that worried her. It was Daryl's.

The dried blood on his fingers was from an accident that had happened earlier that day. He'd busted his knuckles pretty good, and when he flexed his fingers, the scabs still cracked and oozed a little. His daughter, now that he was settled on his ass and she wasn't being snatched around anymore, cradled his hand against her chest in the same manner she might use to hold her baby or a bunny she was being entrusted to snuggle under her Papa Hershel's watchful eye.

"Oh—ouch, Daddy," she declared, delicately brushing her fingers over his fingers. "Ouch—I got it. I got it, Daddy. I kiss it. Don't worry. I kiss it."

"Aaack!" Daryl commanded, snatching his hand back when Sophia lowered her head to make good on her promise and kiss his wounds better. "Don't put'cha damn mouth on that, Sophia! Nasty. Daddy's hands is nasty!"

She clutched his hand for dear life. He'd have to take her off her feet to win his hand back from her grasp. She looked angry. Offended. It was exactly the same expression that Carol gave him whenever he tried to stop her from doing something she intended to do because he didn't want her to get hurt. He'd seen in it from her just the day before when he'd insisted that she not go up the ladder in the storage room because her center of gravity seemed to be shifting at least a little and she hadn't yet mastered the change in her body—and he was sure it would kill him if she fell, even though she might come out of it nearly unhurt.

"I fix it!" Sophia barked at him in the same way he'd barked at her. Everything on her face was drawn up in anger and frustration. "I'ma kiss it better!"

"It ain't a boo boo you can kiss better, Sophia," Daryl argued. "It's busted knuckles. Daddy busted his knuckles."

Sophia looked like this was a reasonable explanation. She held hard to his hand, refusing to relinquish it, but she stopped trying to kiss it for a moment.

"You bust you knuckles?" She asked, garbling the last word to the point that he wouldn't have understood her without the context of what he'd just said.

"I busted my knuckles," Daryl said. "Hit 'em on somethin'. Hard. Now they sore."

"Ouch," Sophia said mournfully.

"It's OK," Daryl promised her. "Don't hurt. Not really. I'm OK."

"You OK, Daddy?" Sophia asked.

"I'm OK," he assured her again.

"I'ma kiss it better, OK?" Sophia said. It wasn't much of a question since she nodded her head as she asked it. Daryl bit the inside of his mouth.

"You your Mama's damn child, you know that?" Daryl asked. Sophia stared at him, unperturbed. She had heard this before, and she wasn't the slightest bit offended by it, if she understood it at all. "Just like she spit your ass out. You know that?" Daryl said with a laugh. "Don't neither one of you listen to nothin' I say that you don't got a mind to hear. My hand is nasty, Sophia. Gross. Nasty."

Sophia nodded her understanding rather sincerely.

"I kiss it better," she informed him. He tugged at it and she stumbled forward. She looked angry at him, for just a split second, for nearly dropping her to her knees.

"Don't kiss my hand, Sophia. I don't want you gettin' germs."

"Germs?" Sophia asked.

"Germs," Daryl confirmed. "I don't want you gettin' sick or nothin'. Here—you wanna—kiss it better? You wanna make Daddy feel better?"

Sophia nodded her head. Daryl smiled to himself. At least his daughter was someone who cared enough about him that she wanted to make him feel better—and not even dried blood and dirt was going to deter her from her self-appointed mission.

"Then give me a kiss on the cheek," Daryl said. "Right here." He gestured with the hand she wasn't holding.

"That'a make you better?" Sophia asked.

Daryl didn't point out to her, again, that he wasn't suffering half as much as she seemed to believe he was suffering. He simply nodded his head. She was satisfied with his offering and she leaned and gave him a kiss—much wetter than he expected—on the face.

"You better?" She asked.

"All better," Daryl offered. "Go play with your cars, OK? I'll tell you if I need somethin' else. You just go play with your cars."

"OK, Daddy," Sophia agreed.

She trotted back to her cars and Daryl watched her for a second before returning to his work. In watching her, he noticed that they weren't alone.

"You comin' all the way in or you ain't?" Daryl asked.

Merle laughed in the hallway and pushed the door the rest of the way open. It was cracked open with a brick, but Daryl had seen Merle's shadow extending into the room.

"Creepy as fuck hangin' around out there without comin' in," Daryl said, teasing his brother. He gave up his work for a moment and crawled toward the place where he'd left his cigarettes and lighter on the floor. When Merle came in the bathroom, Sophia looked at him, but she returned quickly to her cars. She was accustomed to Merle at this point. She would allow him to hold her, and she would sometimes request his attention. She no longer felt the need to keep an eye on him when he was in her presence. She no longer felt, either, the need to protect her Daddy from him in case strangers turned out to be less than pleasant.

She was comfortable with Merle, but Daryl wasn't always certain that he could say the same for his brother's comfort in the presence of children. He was trying, but Merle never seemed quite sure what to do with the Sophia and Judith.

Merle sat down on the bench in the communal shower room and, with relatively little struggle, especially given that he had only one hand, lit a cigarette for himself to join Daryl in a smoke break. Merle was dirty, himself, suggesting that he'd been hard at work. He'd been doing a lot of the work outside the prison where they'd been putting up new fences to expand the amount of land they had where they could move freely.

"Ain't wanted to interrupt your lil' girl time or whatever," Merle said.

Daryl smiled to himself.

"You wouldn'ta interrupted nothin' but life with Soph," Daryl said. "Go back to your cars," he said, when Sophia turned at her name. She did.

"Saw your Mouse outside haulin' laundry," Merle said. "With Andrea. Shouldn't she be out there with them?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Sometimes she's out there with them. Sometimes she's in here with me. I like for her to be where she wants to be. Besides—it's good she's learnin' things."

"She's a girl," Merle pointed out.

"You don't fuckin' say," Daryl mused. "All these nights I been givin' her baths an' I never realized. I'm glad you come along to point that out to me, Merle. Otherwise I mighta just been thinkin' her dick fell off an' I threw it out with the dirty ass bathwater."

"Smart ass," Merle said. "I just meant she'd do better to learn—you know—girl shit."

"Carol does damn near everything around this prison an' then some," Daryl said. "By that argument, Merle, I reckon just about anything is girl shit. Besides—we decided we don't want Sophia feelin' like she's limited to scrubbin' people's drawers an' cookin' food. She can hunt the food if she wants to."

"Your Mouse is lookin' right plump," Merle mused, clearly deciding to change the subject—at least slightly.

Daryl smiled to himself.

"Woke up a couple days ago an' it was like—where the hell'd that come from? She's still cryin' about it sometimes, but she's calmin' down."

"Prob'ly don't ever go back to what the hell she was again," Merle said. "I heard havin' a kid'll ruin a body."

Daryl rolled his eyes at his brother, not that he expected Merle to notice.

"Well she had Sophia an' I ain't had no complaints," Daryl said. "I guess I'm not gonna care too damn much when she has this one. But—if I catch your ass sayin' that shit where she can hear you? I'll knock you out. She's heard enough of that shit in her life an' I don't want you bein' just another asshole she's gotta deal with. Besides—the damn hens around this prison say too much shit anyway. Don't need you joinin' in."

Merle hummed to himself.

"Never figured you'd end up bein' the family man, lil' brother," Merle mused. He held his hands up. "I won't offend your woman. Not even if she gets so damn fat we can't squeeze her ass through the doors."

"Widen the fuckin' doors," Daryl said. "That's all the hell I can tell you. And lie about why you doin' it just so she don't get her feelin's hurt."

Merle laughed.

"I hear ya, brother," Merle offered. "How damn long 'fore we got these showers workin'? I'm gettin' sick of bathin' outta buckets or washin' my naked ass in that in cold ass creek water."

"Ty says less than a week," Daryl said. "We blockin' off all the other shower rooms. Keep this bathroom goin' right."

"I'm about ready to christen this shit," Merle said. "First night these showers is open—you just go ahead an' figure I want last call on the showers."

"Last call? Figured you mighta wanted first call."

"Last call, lil' brother," Merle said. "And when you hear the howlin' comin' outta here? You just tell every damn body it ain't nothin' but the sound of your brother doin' a little damn plumbin'. 'Cause I'ma be layin' some damn pipe like the assholes around here ain't never heard before."

"My damn daughter's right there, Merle," Daryl offered.

Merle laughed and stood up from the bench. He dramatically stretched his back before he shuffled back toward the door to, presumably, head back out to continue his work on the fences.

"Don't you worry, lil' brother. I know how the hell to talk to kids. Real damn good at it. An' she don't know shit except her ole Uncle Merle's real good in the plumbin' business. Just like her ole man, I'd say, from the look of things 'round this place."


	42. Chapter 42

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"We gonna find Mama," Daryl declared. "We gonna find Mama an' we gonna eat lunch."

"Mama!" Sophia called out. Her voice echoed. Inside the prison, though, her noise mattered very little. It stirred up no Walkers and, if it bothered anyone, Daryl wasn't really concerned with the complaints of anyone who might be bothered by a three-year-old occasionally acting like what she was.

Sophia held to Daryl's hands and kept her feet planted as firmly as she could on his feet. He walked, hunched over, slowly and deliberately. He stepped higher than was necessary and swung his feet out more in the manner of Frankenstein's monster than in his normal gait. Walking with Sophia on his feet like that, though, especially when he was dramatic about his steps, made her laugh and cling tightly to his hands.

"She ain't heard you," Daryl offered around Sophia's echoing laughter.

"Mama!" Sophia called out again. "Mama! We gon' find you!"

"Mama," Daryl teased, echoing Sophia's words as she howled in laughter over his dramatic steps. "We gonna find you!"

It was almost time for lunch. Daryl had already washed up pretty well, and he'd washed Sophia's hands to get ahead of the dirt that she managed to pick up like a magnet. He'd taken her outside, expecting to find Carol cooking lunch, and he'd found Andrea, instead, managing four of the newer arrivals while some turned meat on a series of spits and the others tended six large pots that, presumably, held something like rice and vegetables.

Andrea and Carol now had a small army of help to do what Carol had largely done by herself until Andrea had come along some few months before.

Carol had been nowhere near the meal preparation area, and she hadn't been near the laundry area either. Andrea hadn't seen where she'd gone, and nobody else seemed to know either, but Daryl had bumped into Michonne and she'd declared that she'd seen Carol heading into the prison a short time before. Daryl reasoned that she'd probably gone to relieve herself and to wash up.

"Mama!" Sophia called out again as they neared the cell that Daryl and Carol called their private little space in this world. "We gon' get you!"

"We're gonna get you!" Daryl echoed.

When they reached the cell, Daryl held Sophia by one arm and she remained standing on his feet. She didn't try to hop off just yet. She didn't try to run or anything else. She simply laughed and stood there, balanced on his feet, with one of her arms in his grasp.

Daryl pushed back the blanket that worked to give them what little privacy they had in the prison and he immediately dropped it back.

"Daddy…" Sophia called out. It was neither a question nor a statement entirely. She didn't know what was going on. She didn't understand. She was waiting for any explanation that Daryl had to give her, and he was used to thinking pretty quickly by now.

"Not there!" Daryl declared. He took Sophia's other hand to resume the position of walking with her on his feet. He picked up his steps, though, a little faster this time. He was more deliberate with his forward progress. Sophia didn't notice the change. She didn't seem to notice the change at all, in fact. She howled in laughter and called out to her mother that they were in search of her—never knowing that Daryl had found her and was only now trying to figure out where to leave Sophia for a few moments.

He found Andrea easier than anyone else, and he practically shoved Sophia into her arms with only the request that she watch the girl a few minutes. He didn't wait for a response because he already knew that Andrea would take care of Sophia whenever he requested it.

And when Sophia tried to protest, Daryl distracted her quickly by promising her that her aunt Andrea was going to get her some lunch. The only thing that Sophia loved more than playing with Daryl, after all, was eating.

Daryl double-timed his steps back to the cell and slipped under the blanket and into the relative privacy of the cell.

Carol eyed him when he came in.

"Where did you go?" Carol asked. "Where's Sophia?"

"She's eatin' lunch with Andrea," Daryl said.

"Why did you leave?" Carol asked.

"Why do you look like somebody died?" Daryl snapped back.

She was red-faced and puffy-eyed and her posture sitting on the edge of the bed was different from when she was in a good mood. Daryl knew that hormones had been steam-rolling her a bit lately, and he'd heard those around him say that he should be sensitive and forgive her when she said things like she had no idea why she was crying, or when she burst into tears over something as insignificant as him offering her an unexpected flower that he'd picked from where it grew oddly into the fence.

Carol sniffed back against the tears that she'd pretend she wasn't crying and Daryl offered her the handkerchief out of his back pocket. She laughed to herself—a soggy sounding laugh—as she unfolded the cloth square to wipe at her face and blow her nose.

"Is it that obvious?" Carol asked.

"I just wanna know if it's good or bad," Daryl said. "But I'm guessin' bad if you come in here to hide."

Carol shook her head, mournfully, at the handkerchief. Daryl could tell that one cotton square wasn't going to do it, so he went directly to their drawers and rummaged through his own to pull out a few of the clean ones to offer her as the need arose. They did laundry every day. A few more items in the next wash wouldn't matter.

"You hurt?" Daryl asked.

"Not physically," Carol said, a choked sob escaping her. The worst of the crying was clearly done by now—he'd missed the storm—but it could start again at any moment.

"Someone hurt you?" Daryl asked. "Someone hurt your feelin's?"

Carol frowned sincerely at him. She mopped at her face and shook her head. She could deny it all she wanted, but Daryl knew he was at least in the neighborhood of truth. He walked over and sat beside her on the bed. She leaned into him when he rubbed his hand across her back, digging the heel of it in a little to massage muscles as he went.

"Who?" He asked. "Just—tell me who."

"I did," Carol said. She half-hiccupped. "I hurt my own feelings."

Daryl laughed to himself. He kissed the side of her head, wholly relieved that it was nothing serious. It was a bought of tears, no doubt, brought on by hormones and an overactive imagination. He'd dealt with a couple of those in the past few weeks, and he was likely to deal with a few more in the next few months, but he didn't mind them.

"Shhhh," he hissed at her. He kissed the side of her face again and she hummed at him, already calming the rest of the way from her upset. "You can't be doin' this shit, woman," he teased, swallowing his laughter. "Who the hell am I gonna beat up if it's you that's hurtin' you?" Carol laughed quietly in response.

"I'm sorry," she whispered out.

"You oughta be," Daryl said. "Workin' my ass up like that. Come in here to see you cryin' an' I'm thinkin' the worst damn shit. Gotta get Sophia outta here—prob'ly damn near give Andrea a heart attack with the look in my eyes. Tryin' to make it clear to her ass that I'd kill her if she let Soph get upset 'cause I'ma have to come deal with some real heavy shit in here…an' you done come in here an' hurt your own damn feelings?"

Carol hummed at him and nuzzled his neck. He closed his eyes to the sensation. A shiver ran through him. She kissed his neck and the shiver intensified.

Daryl pulled away enough to catch her face and he immediately brought his lips to hers. Her kiss tasted salty and he imagined that she'd closed herself in the cell for quite a good cry before he'd found her. He'd come in, no doubt, on the tail end of things.

Despite the salty taste, though, her kisses were sweet and Daryl indulged her as she fed on his mouth like she was starving.

He laughed to himself as he pulled away for air.

"What?" Carol asked, almost sounding offended. There was a deep crease between her brows. "What?" She repeated, on the verge of getting angry with him.

"You seem kinda hungry to me," Daryl teased. "You sure you ain't just like Sophia? Thinkin' your feelin's got hurt but really you just sad 'cause you was really just _hungry_?" Carol frowned at him. It was evident that she wasn't entirely sure what mood she was in and she wasn't entirely sure if she was going to be offended or not. Daryl stroked her cheek and stole a few quick kisses to soften her expression. "You lure me in here with fake tears so you could get somethin' you wanted from me?" She smiled at him, sincerely, but he knew the dampness drying on her cheeks wasn't fake. "All jokes aside, you wanna tell me what it is that upset you?"

"I feel like a whale," Carol said.

"Tiny fuckin' whale," Daryl said. "More like a dolphin. We got a long way to go yet. Besides—I thought we talked about it, didn't we? Agreed—bigger is better, right? We want this kid full grown. Everything like it's supposed to be. Well-nutritioned and all that shit."

Daryl laughed to himself when her frown cracked. He knew her. He knew her well. And even though every day he still learned something more about her—or at least that's how it felt—he knew what made her smile and what made her sad. He knew everything in between.

And he would be as silly as she needed him to be to see a smile over tears.

"All of these—tiny little young little…" Carol sighed to finish her statement. 

"They were tryin' to get under your skin again?" Daryl asked.

"They didn't even know I was around," Carol admitted.

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't laugh at her. He wouldn't trivialize what she thought was a big deal—even if he knew she wouldn't think it was a big deal once the mood had passed.

"They were talkin' about you?" He asked.

"Me," Carol said. "Andrea…everybody? I don't know. They weren't talking about anybody and they were talking about everybody."

"What the hell were they doin'?" Daryl asked. "What the hell were they sayin'?"

Carol narrowed her eyes at him.

"They were ranking the men in the prison," Carol said.

Daryl didn't quite hold back the entire bout of laughter that rose up in him. Some escaped him.

"Rankin' us?" Daryl asked.

"You know," Carol said.

"I'm afraid I don't," Daryl said, even though he had some suspicions. The blending of Woodbury and the prison meant that there was a great deal of movement in between the two places. People went here and there as they pleased. In addition to the permanent "homes" established in each location, they were also establishing temporary quarters for those who wanted to simply spend a small amount of time in one place or the other. Even Daryl—and he hoped to convince Carol and Sophia to go with him—planned to go to Woodbury soon.

Because of the flux of people, though, and because of the general shortage of males in the population, there was at least some flashing of tail-feathers and the like as the two populations mingled.

"They were ranking the men on like—who would be the…you know…best partner or whatever," Carol said.

"Well ain't that flatterin' as shit," Daryl said with a laugh. "I mean Merle used to rank women based on fuckability and all, but best partner? That's gotta be a woman thing—take into account a whole lot more characteristics."

"Stop," Carol said. There was no real anger there, but there was still a flash of warning. Daryl smiled at her.

"Where'd I come in?" He asked.

"Stop," Carol repeated.

"Come on," Daryl teased. "You owe me that. At least tell me—you know—where the hell I come in." Her lip rolled out slightly. He almost felt bad for teasing her, but he knew he'd make it up to her. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Was I at least higher'n Merle?" She nodded her head, her bottom lip still slightly protruding, perhaps even against her will. "How high?" Daryl asked. He smiled at her expression and, rather than push it, he kissed her. At first, she struggled playfully like she would deny him the kiss, but finally she settled into it. He kept it up, too. He teased her with different kisses until his hands—pressed against her back—could feel that she'd relaxed. Then he pulled away.

"Perfect daddy," Carol said with a laugh. "Perfect husband. Provider. You can fix anything. What the hell do you think you were going to rank, asshole?" Daryl laughed to himself and rubbed his knuckle against her cheek.

"You know why the hell they ranked me high like they done? Because they saw me with you and they were thinkin' that's what the hell they were gonna get. They were thinkin' that all this—all that we got? They were thinkin' they could have that." He smirked at her. "And that means it really oughta be them you cryin' for—'cause you know they can't never have all this."

"Asshole," Carol responded.

Daryl laughed to himself and pulled her close to him.

"The hell you cryin' for?" He asked. "Because they ranked my ass higher'n Merle?"

"Because I feel fat and gross and sad and…not worthy of someone that a twenty-year-old Barbie doll is going to rank as her preferred mate," Carol said.

"I don't care what anybody says," Daryl mused. "Being ranked like a piece of beef is so damn complemental—I understand now why women reacted so damn good to it when Merle used to tell 'em what the hell he ranked 'em as." He laughed to himself when Carol didn't respond. She didn't pull away from him, though, so that was a good sign. "You ain't none of them things you said you were feelin' like you were," Daryl said. "And if it makes you feel any better, I'd rank you a one or an A or whatever the hell the scale is."

She slipped a hand around him to rub his side, and then she playfully pinched him. He jumped slightly, but didn't pull away from her since her attack was short-lived and only meant with affection.

"You're just saying that to be an asshole," Carol said.

"I'm not," Daryl assured her.

"I'm not a one next to—to Malibu Barbie and friends," Carol said. Daryl laughed to himself and wrapped his arms around her tighter, playfully squeezing her as he pulled her against him on their bed.

"I don't know about Barbie," he said. "But—I don't even gotta see the rest of the contenders. You're my number one. Always."

Carol nuzzled into him and her face found his neck again. He shivered at the nuzzle—something she did when she was feeling particularly affectionate—and their little one, he'd learned, often made her feel particularly affectionate. She laughed quietly and nipped at his neck so that another shiver ran through him.

"Stop it, woman," he warned. "We ain't even had lunch yet."

"Sophia's with Andrea?" Carol asked. Daryl hummed at her. He closed his eyes to the sensation of her tongue and teeth doing their work on his neck and now his ear. With the next shiver, his dick started to make requests to join the conversation and Carol must have heard it loud and clear because her hand immediately started working the button his pants to find a way inside. "Then what if we just took a couple of minutes? Just for me to offer my number one a little—appetizer?"

Daryl laughed to himself, and the laugh dissolved into a hiss as her hand wrapped around him.

"You know me better'n that," he said, moving to push her down under him on the bed and to free himself from her grasp. "You know you keep fuckin' with me like that—I'ma be number one an' win this damn race." She had embraced her maternity clothes now, and her pants were all elastic, so they were easy for him to work down quickly—which was one of the best things about them. Daryl pushed her shirt up to press a kiss to the skin just below her navel—where the second little life to make him a Daddy was busy growing as best it could and pumping a record amount of hormones into its poor and defenseless mother—before he started his short trip downward. "And we oughta split the appetizer. So—come here to me."


	43. Chapter 43

**AN: Here we are, another little chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"This is mine," Daryl called out into the darkness. "Before you even start."

There was laughter. It was Merle's laughter. Merle shuffled his way across the prison yard and Daryl heard the pebbles flying this way and that—the sound of them had announced his approach in the first place. The glow of Merle's cigarette marked his presence a second after the flame of his lighter. It took another couple of moments before the orange spot floating through the air turned fully into Daryl's brother and Merle stepped into the light surrounding Daryl's small lamp.

"You always were shit at sharin', brother," Merle said. He found himself a spot to sit on the ground near Daryl with his back to the wall.

"You was always breakin' my shit," Daryl said. "So, then I didn't have it no more."

"You scared I'ma break your shit now, lil' brother?" Merle asked. Daryl didn't respond because it was a loaded question and, really, sometimes he did fear that—even if it was an entirely irrational fear and he knew that it was irrational. "You too damn quiet. You don't deny it, so that means you're truthin' it."

"That ain't a fuckin' word," Daryl said. Merle laughed.

"That you'll argue with me about," Merle mused. "What the hell you even got, lil' brother, in this world? Don't got shit."

"Got a wife," Daryl said. "Sophia. Baby comin' when it's done bakin' up right."

Merle laughed to himself.

"Well, I ain't gonna break your family, so you can sleep easy on that," Merle said.

"Might have you one of your own," Daryl offered. "Someday."

Merle hummed.

"I ain't cut out for it," he said. "Too damn set in my ways. Sonofabitch. Ain't nobody's ole man an' I ain't the marryin' kind."

Daryl simply hummed. Just like he had the strangely irrational fear that someone or something would take away the things he cared about; Merle had the fear that he was no damned good at anything. The fear often led him to sabotage shit in his life as a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. If he never tried, after all, how could he possibly fail?

"What'cha got there?" Merle asked.

Daryl pretended to be out there tinkering with the contraption, but really, he was rolling it back and forth over a small section of dirt and breathing fresh air. So many bodies in the prison, sometimes, made it feel like he was suffocating—even if he knew that he wasn't actually suffocating—and Carol would urge him to step outside for a few minutes if there was nothing going on that really required his presence. He'd always come back, after he'd breathed enough to feel like he wasn't suffocating, much better off than if he'd remained inside and thought about how he could almost feel himself slowly losing the ability to get enough air into his lungs.

"It's sort of a scooter," Daryl said. "For Sophia. Made it outta shit I found here an' there. Gonna put a steerin' column on it off the Radio Flyer I got the wheels from. Sand it down good. So, she can ride it around."

"You was scared I was gonna take your scooter?" Merle asked with a laugh. "Laid claim to it right damn quick."

"Thought you was Rick," Daryl said.

"Officer Friendly gonna steal your scooter?" Merle asked with a laugh. "Big brother's here now. He'll beat up the bad ole bully po-lice officer for stealin' your scooter, boy."

Daryl snorted.

"Asshole. Still, you'd be fuckin' surprised at all the hell he'll take if he wants it," Daryl said. "Wants all the best for his kids—for himself, too—but sometimes he don't realize he's gotta bust his ass a lil' bit to get what he wants. All the best shit, it don't just fall into your lap. You really got work for it."

Merle hummed.

"You a philosopher now?" Merle asked.

"Just the truth, Merle," Daryl said. "I know that shit now. I can have any damn thing I want if I work to get it. But not a fuckin' thing I got just landed in my lap like it is—with no damn work from me."

"You sure that lil' woman ain't landed in your lap? From the sight of her—I'd say she spent a decent amount of time there," Merle said. "Mmm hmmm…to get her to the size she is, though, maybe you was workin' her pretty good."

"You shut up about her damned size," Daryl warned.

"Easy, brother," Merle said. "I'm just fuckin' with ya. She's s'posed to be swole up like that, right? Hell—I guess even the years, sometimes, they sit different on a woman's hips. Andrea ain't no lil' waif herself. Not like them lil' kittens runnin' around here that's barely what we woulda deemed legal 'fore all this shit. Of course—Officer Friendly's wife looks like she might blow away come a good wind—so maybe it ain't the years that's settled in on Andrea's hips."

"I didn't think you'd like some skinny lil' thing like Lori," Daryl offered. Merle laughed.

"Nah," he said. "I do like me a lil' somethin' that shakes just about fuckin' right. Better to get you a good damn grip."

"Jesus, Merle," Daryl growled. Merle laughed.

"From what I heard, Officer Friendly's gonna unload her ass," Merle said. "Olive Oyl, I mean. Heard him talkin' to Hershel. Said they both want it, I guess. First damn end-of-the-fuckin' world divorce."

"We'll see how that works," Daryl mused. "If you like what the hell you got, though, you better hold onto it. Rick's liable to want to take it just because he don't have a wife no more."

"Maybe he wants him one of them lil' kittens that's runnin' around here," Merle said. "Or—maybe he's got him a taste for a mouse, instead."

"Shut up, Merle," Daryl warned.

"I saw you pissin' a circle around your lil' Mouse today," Merle said. "Didn't know that's what the hell you was doin' it for, though. Thought it was just a general warnin' to all the Woodburyians that's been comin' in here regular-like."

Daryl laughed to himself.

He had put on a bit of a show, perhaps, that Merle might call pissing in a circle. He'd found a few reasons to crow about his wife and both of his children to any ear willing to entertain him for even a fraction of a second.

He smiled to himself even remembering it. He'd been, more than likely, a bit of an obnoxious asshole, but he had no regrets over his actions. And his brother—obnoxious asshole that he could surely be—wouldn't really hold it against him.

"Weren't for Rick," Daryl said.

"Which of them fuckers did you reckon was after a pre-made family?" Merle asked. "It's a real particular kinda man wants him a woman what's swelled up with someone else's kid."

"Weren't nobody," Daryl said. "That weren't about a single, solitary asshole out there."

"Then who the hell was it for, brother?" Merle asked with a laugh.

"Was for Carol," Daryl said.

"For Carol?" Merle asked.

Daryl hummed.

"Put on a bit of a show," Daryl said. "Strut an' snort an' make it seem like I'm about jealous enough to piss all over her just to mark her as mine."

"That some kinda kink your lil' Mouse's got, brother?" Merle asked. "I ain't judgin'—Andrea kinda likes some sketchy shit. Likes me to like—likes me to make her do shit, ya know? I mean—I ain't makin' her do shit; she'd probably stab me in my sleep if I did. Wouldn't no way, but…it's like I'm makin' her do what the fuck she wants to do..."

"For fuck's sake, Merle," Daryl spat. "Now I feel like I need to go pour bleach in my fuckin' ears to try to wash that shit outta my brain."

Merle laughed.

"It was hard to get used to at first," Merle said. "Felt wrong. But—hell, she likes it so damn much an' you get used to it. Your Mouse got some kinda damn jealousy kink or some shit?"

"She do and she don't," Daryl said. "That kinda show that I'm jealous makes her feel good. But, more than that, it lets them little kittens you were talkin' about earlier know that I'm serious about my woman. She's mine and I ain't lettin' nobody else get in there to get close to her."

"The kittens tryin' to take your woman?" Merle asked. He helped himself to another cigarette and Daryl reached his hand over to request one. Merle gave him one and Daryl offered to light both as an exchange since he knew that Merle struggled with the lighter. "That might be somethin' to let happen, brother, long as they lettin' you watch."

"Fuck you," Daryl offered. "The kittens is givin' the rest of the women hell around here."

"The rest of the women bein'…?" Merle asked.

"All the non-fuckin' kittens, Merle," Daryl said. "Try to keep up. I don't got this much trouble gettin' Soph to follow a story."

"So, you struttin' around here crowin' about how how much you like your woman is gonna keep the kittens from fuckin' with Carol and Andrea and all the damn rest?" Merle asked. Daryl hummed. "Why the hell don't they just haul off an' break one of 'em's nose or some shit an' then the rest'll back off? What the hell they doin' to 'em anyway? Because Andrea ain't said shit an' she's damn near ready to bust Rick's soon to be ex in the fuckin' face, so she might just take 'em all out at once if they don't back off her."

"It ain't that kinda fuckin' with 'em," Daryl said. "If you ain't noticed, the men are outnumbered around here like twelve to one."

"Ain't I noticed it," Merle mused.

"So, they fuckin' with 'em," Daryl said. "An' me showin' I'm jealous is a big and wide-open reminder that I'm not just taken, but I'm about as happily married as they come, so there ain't no need in barkin' up this tree and makin' Carol even the least bit uncomfortable while she's workin' on bakin' my young'un."

Merle laughed to himself.

"Ain't you a romantic," Merle said.

"I love my wife," Daryl said flatly. "I won't apologize for it. Not to you or anybody else, Merle. I swore to myself that I was gonna keep her happy, safe, provided for, and secure." He ticked off, on his fingers, all the things he'd promised himself a thousand times over that he'd give her because she deserved all that and more—and that's what a good husband ought to give her, at least according to his thoughts. "I was gonna give her everything she needs—no matter what the hell it is. And if it takes me struttin' my ass all over this whole fuckin' prison and remindin' everyone that she's mine and it won't never change to keep her feeling happy and secure, then that's what I'll do. And I'll do it tomorrow, too, if she's feelin' uneasy again."

Merle laughed to himself.

"You really gonna love when we go to Woodbury, then, in a couple weeks," Merle said. "Because there's a whole assload of men and women that you don't even know."

"Well they're gonna know one thing," Daryl said. Merle hummed at him in question. "What's mine is mine…and I don't like nobody fuckin' with what's mine—no way and no how."

Merle laughed. He reached his hand out and clapped Daryl on the shoulder. He squeezed the muscle there hard enough that Daryl gritted his teeth to keep from responding. Merle had always been strong. He was stronger now, though, than he had been before. He might've lost a hand, but that hadn't stopped the other one from being more than capable of handling itself—that much was clear in the affectionate grip he had on Daryl's shoulder just before he released it.

"Ain't nobody gonna take your scooter," Merle offered. "Your fuckin' Mouse or any of your kids, neither. Not so long as big brother's here to kick their ass for ya." He laughed, and Daryl laughed too.

"You're an asshole, Merle," Daryl said.

"Don't I fuckin' know it?" Merle mused.

"Maybe you don't understand," Daryl said. "But havin' a whole family that's all yours, Merle? It's like somethin' you can't even imagine until you open your eyes one day and you realize that you got it. It's there and it's yours. And—at the same damn time it's the best thing that's ever happened to you and it's like the most fragile thing that's ever happened to you. Like you just know—the minute that you know it's all yours—you just know you'd do whatever the hell you gotta do to keep it. It's the best damn thing in the world."

"Not really my thing," Merle said, getting to his feet. Daryl already knew that he'd said something that was going to make his brother run away—at least for a little while. Merle didn't like to try to talk about things when he found them difficult to talk about. He would simply walk away from that kind of conversation. It was one of the easiest ways to know if something was a sore spot for Merle. "I wouldn't know shit about it," he said, walking away without another word or a goodnight to Daryl.

"I hope, brother, for your sake you do—one day," Daryl offered. He kept his voice low enough, though, that Merle couldn't hear it. Because Merle, at that moment, wouldn't want to hear it.

Daryl stayed seated, rolling the scooter back and forth just in front of his feet, until the pebbles were quiet and his brother was gone. He stayed until his cigarette was done.

He stayed until he heard her voice.

"Daryl? Are you OK out here?"

Daryl smiled to himself.

"Fine," he said.

"Are you staying out long?" Carol called. "Sophia's gone down with Hershel, but…she's not going to sleep well without a kiss from Daddy and…well, I was hoping to go to sleep soon."

It was her way of asking him to come in. It was her way of reminding him that she didn't sleep well without him.

It was her way of reminding him how very loved and needed he was.

"I'm comin' in," he said. "Gonna put the scooter up. Be five minutes. Go back in—it's gettin' a little chilly out tonight. Don't want you catchin' cold."

He could practically hear her smile in her words, and he smiled at her reply.

"I love you, too," she offered, much quieter than before.

"Yeah, woman," Daryl responded. "I love you, too."


	44. Chapter 44

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl sat on the edge of their bed, holding Sophia against him as she slept drooling down his shoulder. He watched Carol and practically chewed a chunk out of his cheek because he refused to laugh at her.

"You packin' like I'm takin' you to be executed," Daryl offered quietly.

"I feel a little like that," Carol said.

"You wanna talk to me about it?" Daryl asked. Carol shook her head. He gave her another few minutes of forlornly folding their clothes and placing them into the bags. "Prison's cold in the winter," he offered. "Bet we get a place with a fireplace in Woodbury."

Carol shrugged her shoulders. It was bad. It was worse than he'd suspected earlier in the day when he'd seen Andrea hugging her to offer her comfort—or at least that's what he'd assumed she was doing. Carol had kept on doing what she had to do, but it was clear that she'd been blue since Daryl had come to her with the news that they wanted to go ahead with the exchange and move to Woodbury for a couple of months to get the people of Woodbury started. They'd work on figuring out where they'd start their gardens, they'd work on building greenhouses, and they'd work on getting everything ready to start planting as soon as winter was done.

In addition, they'd exchange knowledge of a few basic skills, and they'd promote a little more brotherhood and goodwill between the two sister communities.

From what he could tell, there was nothing wrong with Carol other than the fact that she was pregnant and, according to Hershel, might be practically drowning in hormones and emotions. She didn't seem physically hurt in any way. She'd continued her work all day long without complaint and without interference from her feelings beyond a slightly sad expression that she'd worn for most of the day. She'd cared for Sophia as she normally would and the little girl had noticed nothing out of the ordinary—she'd even convinced her mother to sacrifice a little of her dignity and to share the metal bathtub with her so that they could play together in the water. It was a treat that Sophia loved, but Carol always reserved for very rare occasions.

Now that Sophia had been nursed and was absolutely lost to the world in a deep sleep, Carol could let her feelings loose a little. Daryl didn't mind being the one to experience them with her.

"Fireplace could be kinda nice," Daryl offered. "Romantic." Carol shrugged her shoulders again and continued folding the clothes. Daryl thought he saw her chin quiver. He stood up because, suddenly, he could barely breathe. He stood up because he needed to take care of one thing at a time. He'd never been good at handling more than one thing at a time. He carried Sophia quickly and quietly to her little bed—making sure not to make eye contact with anyone. He made sure not to say a word to anyone. He didn't want to be distracted. He lowered the sleeping girl into her little pen and tucked her in with her favorite fuzzy blanket. He gave her her lamb and her baby for good measure. He told her goodnight, though she was far away and never heard him.

And then he returned to the cell to handle his wife and his other child—a child he could only really imagine at this point, but which he enjoyed dreaming of as being every bit as real and consequential as Sophia.

As soon as Daryl slipped back under the blanket that gave them some semblance of privacy, he reached out a hand and caught Carol's shoulder.

"You are killin' me, woman," he said. He half wanted to laugh at everything, and he half felt like his chest was actually going to crack in two. "I can't stand you lookin' like you're so damned sad. If you don't wanna go with me, then you can stay here."

"I don't want to not be where you are," Carol said.

"Then I won't go," Daryl said. "I'll stay here an' we'll pretend I never even suggested that we could go to Woodbury. You can put all that right back where you packed it from and we'll go to bed and to hell with everyone else and everything else that's happenin' outside this cell. That make you feel better?"

Carol laughed halfheartedly to herself, her chest barely bouncing with the insincere laughter.

"They came here to help," Carol said. "Because of them we've got solar power. We'll be able to get even more as we keep working. We have some idea of how to keep it working and fix it if it breaks. They'll come back if we need them. And we've got more people here. It's only fair that—we hold up our end of the bargain. We told them we'd exchange skills with them, too."

"So, everyone else can still do that."

"You're good at just about everything," Carol said. "Plumbing, electricity, construction, even what we might call engineering. They need you. Besides—you can teach them how to hunt so they don't starve to death all winter."

"If it's gonna mean breakin' your heart like this," Daryl said, "I'd let the whole damn lot of 'em starve, Carol."

Carol's chin quivered again as her sadness returned and Daryl's chest ached in response. He pulled her with him to the bed and she sat down next to him and leaned into him.

"This is our home," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"It's a prison cell, though," Daryl said. "We gonna have an apartment at Woodbury. A whole place for us an' Sophia. You might like it there ten times better than you like it here. You might never wanna come back here. Might just wanna keep it as a winter home or somethin'. Stay there half the year."

"But this is our home," Carol said. She rested her head on Daryl's shoulder. "Our first home together. After the little tent. After the bedroom that Hershel let us use. This is our first home. I just keep thinking about that. And this is where our baby was conceived. Right here. In this bed."

"The prison ain't goin' nowhere," Daryl assured her, looping his arm over her shoulder. "This cell ain't goin' nowhere. This is ours. Them two we claimed for Sophia and the baby? They belong to us, too. Nobody's touchin' our cells and nothin' we got in 'em. I'ma chain 'em shut, just in case. Got padlocks. You and me gonna have the keys. Everything locked up."

"I'm not worried about us being robbed," Carol said with a laugh. "I don't care that much, really, about things. Anything I can't stand the idea of parting with I'm packing, really. It's just the space…it's the memories."

"Memories ain't goin' nowhere either," Daryl assured her. "I'ma lock them up safe with the stuff. Right here."

He tapped his chest and Carol leaned up just enough to smile at him. It was the first smile he'd seen since he'd told her they were going to Woodbury, so he was happy to see it. He kissed her and she nipped at his lip.

"A lot can happen in a couple of months," Carol said. "Something could happen to the baby and I'd be all the way in Woodbury."

"And they got a doctor there," Daryl said. "A real one. Like not a vet like Hershel. This one worked in a hospital and everything."

"I'm comfortable with Hershel," Carol said. "So comfortable that—I'm not even sure I care if this other person's more qualified. If something terrible were going to happen? I'd want it to be Hershel that told me…not some stranger."

Daryl dropped his hand and rubbed her belly. She would complain that she felt huge—like a whale. In reality, the evidence of their child was nothing more than what Daryl might have described as a tight little bump. He wouldn't have paid it any attention, really, if he hadn't been practically fixated on its growth because he knew that it marked the growth of their little one. He tickled her belly, gently, with his fingertips, and Carol laughed and pulled away from him as the tickling clearly made her muscles jump.

"I try to get you a romantic place with a fireplace to keep as your winter house," Daryl said, "and you repay me by dreamin' up horrible things to happen to my kid?" Carol laughed quietly. The tickling and affection elevated her mood, so Daryl continued to gently rub his fingers over her belly. He stole a kiss from her, too, when he thought she might be in the giving mood. "Why does somethin' horrible have to happen to our baby 'cause we're gonna spend some time in Woodbury?"

"I didn't mean that it had to," Carol said. "God—I hope it doesn't."

"Shhh," Daryl offered before she could worry herself even more with something that was entirely hypothetical. "It won't. Don't even say it or think it anymore."

"I just meant—Hershel…"

"Is goin' with us," Daryl said. Carol's shoulders somewhat sagged with the news. Daryl laughed to himself at her visible relief. "Hershel is goin' with us. Hell—if it makes you feel better, we'll ask for an apartment big enough for all of us. Let him stay with us since none of his kids is goin' with him. Keep him from stayin' alone. He wants to study some with the doc they got there."

"I want Hershel to deliver the baby," Carol said.

"Absolutely," Daryl said. "Whether it comes here or there or—wherever the fuck we are, Hershel's gonna deliver it as long as he's there to do it or we can get him there to do it. Carol we won't be gone that long, though. If you don't want."

"I wanted the baby to be born here," Carol said. "I thought it would be born right here. In our bed. In the bed it was conceived in."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"But maybe that was before we knew there was somethin' better," Daryl said. "Maybe you'll like that place. If the baby comes when it's still cool, might be better it's born there. Won't need to be so bundled up."

Carol glared at him. Daryl realized there was plenty of time for negotiations and reconsidering. There was plenty of time for her to change her mind. Right now, he was doing pretty well at working her toward going to Woodbury and going there happily—instead of looking like she was headed toward execution.

There was no need to push his luck too far.

"We're not that far away," Daryl said. "Hell—me, Merle, and Andrea walked from Woodbury here and it didn't even take half a day. Drivin' we're here in like thirty minutes and that's not tearin' up the damned road. Even if we're there when the baby comes, we can make it back here if it means that much to you. Hershel, too. We'll just haul him back with us when we come."

"You wouldn't mind?" Carol asked, a little amusement creeping into her voice.

"You're gonna be doin' the ridiculously fuckin' hard work of bringin' the kid into the world," Daryl said. "You get to pick where that happens and how that happens, as long as it's in our power to control it. You get to have it the way you want it. And I don't think that I'm going to have any room to complain about how the hell you want to go about pushin' our kid outta your body."

"That wasn't how Ed felt about it at all," Carol offered.

"Good damn thing I'm not Ed," Daryl said. "It would be awkward as hell to whip my own ass and then, when I killed myself for bein' an asshole, I'd miss everything in our life. And I'd fuckin' hate that, because I don't wanna miss any of this."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I don't know what to pack," she said. "I just—keep putting things in bags."

Daryl's stomach flipped. That was it. It was the moment that she made the turn. She wasn't going to be sad about this. She was all in now. The sadness had actually left her features. She'd said what she needed to say and she'd gotten the comfort that she needed to get.

They would go where they needed to go, do what they needed to do, and face this new little adventure together.

"They got furniture," Daryl said. "All of that. So just the stuff you gonna need or want. But we close enough that we can come back if you forget somethin'. It ain't nothin' but a thing. And, like I said, I'ma lock up our cells. Everything's gonna be right here when we come back. Just like we left it."

Carol smiled at him.

"I'll leave the bed," she said. "But I'm bringing the pillows and this blanket."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Fine with me, woman," he said. "But—what do you say we leave off packin' tonight? We ain't leavin' in the morning. What if we were just to crawl up under this blanket, instead of packin' it right now, and—maybe think about re-enacting when this little one was conceived, since it's been on your mind so much lately?"

Carol smiled at him very sincerely. She laughed to herself and raised her eyebrows at him.

"I can't think of any other way I'd rather spend this evening," she offered.


	45. Chapter 45

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl left Carol inside the prison and doing a final sort of "check"—because he wasn't sure what else to call it—of everything she'd packed and, possibly, forgotten. He was pretty certain that she'd brought everything they needed, that she could return for anything she'd forgotten as often as necessary, and that Woodbury would have many of their regularly needed items on hand, but she was happy, so he was going to simply let her be happy and do what she needed to do.

In the yard, they had brought a truck all the way up to the prison. Many of them were making the move, with people from the prison going there and a few who had come from Woodbury returning, and they were going to use two large trucks to do the moving all at once.

Daryl was immediately drawn toward one of the trucks with the sound of crying—crying that he would have known anywhere.

Everyone was doing something, even if Daryl wasn't sure that everyone knew exactly what it was that they were doing. Sophia was standing outside one of the trucks, and she was crying. It was the slow, steady, buzzing cry of a long-continued lament. Her cheeks were wet with tears by the time that Daryl got to her, and he scooped her up and hugged her before he ever bothered to ask her what was wrong. She pointed toward the truck, but she didn't immediately voice her concerns.

Rick and a man from Woodbury emerged from the back of the truck, half-hanging off it.

"Anything else out here?" The man asked. His name was Allen, and Daryl thought he was decent enough, even if the two of them never really bothered to sit down and share a meal together.

"Didn't neither one of you assholes think to stop an' see why the hell my kid was standin' out here cryin'?" Daryl asked. The child in question was still crying, but it had calmed a little in intensity as she clung to Daryl's neck.

"Figured it was you she wanted," Allen offered.

"Babies cry," Rick said with a laugh. "That's what they do. Judith has been crying since she woke up."

Sophia leaned into Daryl and he kissed her face. It was wet and he wiped her face with his hand. The crying was slowing down considerably, but she was doing her best to keep it going. It wasn't the kind of cry that she normally did solely for attention or for getting something, though. There was some kind of deep heartbreak behind the cry and she was simply wearing down and running out of the energy required to keep the tears flowing.

"You calmin' a bit," Daryl told her. "You wanna tell me what it is now?"

She pointed at the truck.

"That's the truck," Daryl said. She cried just a little harder and Daryl laughed to himself. "You cryin' 'cause your daddy's an idiot? Your mama does that sometimes." Sophia's cry softened as she worked to try to figure out the riddle of what he'd said. "Somethin' wrong with the truck?"

"Go," Sophia barked. It was the first word she'd gotten out in her upset.

Daryl nodded.

"We talked about this," Daryl said. "You 'member that, Soph? When we talked about it?"

"My bed!" Sophia barked.

Daryl glanced into the back of the truck. In the time that he'd been talking to Sophia, someone had brought a few things and balanced them on the end of the truck. There was thumping and bumping coming from inside as Rick and Allen moved the items around and placed them on the truck.

Near the door, Sophia's bed was loaded up. Rather than fold it up, since there was plenty of space so far, it was simply sitting there in the same way it had been sitting in the cell. One of her blankets, even, was draped over the edge of it. Someone—likely Andrea since she'd been put to work carrying a lot of things around since just about the time she'd opened her eyes—had simply carried it out exactly as they'd found it when tasked with making sure it made it to the truck.

"Your bed's goin' to Woodbury with us," Daryl said. "So you can have it in your new room."

"No! I keep my bed!" Sophia demanded. It was clear that her tiny body was running the gamut of her emotions. She didn't know if she was angry or sad.

And it was a lot for someone so small to understand. Daryl reminded himself of that. He rubbed his hand over her face and smoothed down her hair.

"You gonna keep it," Daryl assured her. "We takin' it with us an' we all goin' to Woodbury."

"My lamb," Sophia said matter of factly.

"It's goin', too," Daryl said with a nod.

"No! My lamb, Daddy!" Sophia said, pointing toward the truck.

"Rick!" Daryl called.

A second later, Rick appeared and leaned near the door.

"Yeah?"

"Can you reach in there an' pass me that lamb in the bottom?" Daryl asked.

Rick nodded and fished the lamb out the bottom of the bed. Sophia reached for it, but Daryl's arm was a good deal longer, so he made the exchange from Rick's outstretched hand to Sophia's. She hugged the lamb against her with a great deal of appreciation and transferred it over to smash it between her body and Daryl's. Before she could make more requests, Daryl made them for her.

"Gonna need that rubber baby in there, too, while you at it," Daryl said.

Rick laughed to himself, but he passed over the baby doll in the same way that he'd passed Daryl the lamb. As soon as Sophia was in possession of two of her most prized possessions, she seemed to forget that she'd spent some time in distress.

"Thank you," she offered. "Thank you, Daddy!"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Thank Rick, he got 'em out for you."

"Thank you!" Sophia offered, calling the thanks over her shoulder as Daryl held her against him and freed up both her arms to hold her prizes.

"Thanks, man," Daryl offered. "You goin' with us?"

Rick abandoned his work for a moment, not that Daryl imagined there was too much left to do at this point.

"I'll stay to make sure things keep running smoothly here with all the new Woodbury people," Rick said. "We're going to work on opening up a couple of cell blocks. Send out some recruitment teams to see if we can find a few more people out there."

"I heard Ty talkin' about somethin' similar at Woodbury," Daryl said.

"But you don't approve," Rick responded, filling in what he thought he heard in the short silence between Daryl's words.

"Didn't say that," Daryl said. "I'm just sayin' what I said before—gotta be careful about who we bringin' in. Be on guard if we got new people around. Same as we done when even the Woodbury people come here."

Rick hummed.

"I think we're all going to be careful," he offered. "I'll be in and out of Woodbury."

"I'm sure I'll be in and out of here," Daryl said.

"I mean on business," Rick said, "but—Lori's going to Woodbury."

It was the first end of the world divorce—at least as far as anyone knew. They'd gone to Hershel seeking advice, but the advice he'd given them had been pretty simple and straightforward.

If you can't be married, then don't be married. Divide up whatever you have in the fairest way possible. Try to remember that you once loved each other, even if now you don't like one another. If you couldn't communicate with each other in your marriage, learn to communicate in your divorce. Set each other free, but both of you should be there for your children.

"Space?" Daryl asked.

"It's probably for the best," Rick said. "At least a couple months. We'll see how things go between the communities. I might end up spending more time there later, but I think a little distance wouldn't be the worst thing."

"What about the kids?" Daryl asked.

"I'll keep a place there," Rick said. "There's more than enough room—and that's even without expanding the walls to take in a couple of the surrounding suburbs. I'll spend a couple of days a week there."

"Prob'ly for the best," Daryl offered.

Daryl had very little love for Lori and, really, he didn't hold a great deal of affection for Rick. They were all family—even if they were sometimes the kind of family that caused scenes over what was supposed to be picturesque family gatherings—and so he respected the bond that time had forced between them all.

Still, Rick seemed lighter in the number of hours since they had officially declared themselves as divorced.

"We goin'?" Sophia asked, getting Daryl's attention again by swaying in his arms. He held her so that he wouldn't drop her with her wiggling around.

"We're goin'," Daryl said. "As soon as they get the trucks loaded an' your ma's satisfied she's got all she wants out our cells."

"Mama's goin', too," Sophia said.

"Mama's goin' too," Daryl echoed, nodding his head.

"Daddy's goin'," Sophia said.

"Daddy's goin'," Daryl said.

"Sophia's goin'," Sophia offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"We all goin'," Daryl said. "You gonna sit in your mama's lap and I'ma drive one of them cars down there. Papa Hershel's goin', too, an' your Uncle Merle an' Andrea."

Almost as though saying her name had conjured the blonde up from thin air, Daryl heard her name shouted as it came from near the prison. It was yelled out, sharply, and Daryl immediately turned toward the sound and started in that direction. He knew the sound of aggression in someone's tone.

The person who had yelled out Andrea's name was Lori. Apparently, Andrea was trying to walk away from some kind of heated conversation that had begun inside the prison.

Andrea was carrying a box. She struggled under the weight of it a little, and Daryl assumed it was canned goods or something of the like since most of the personal items were already loaded on the truck but there were still supplies to be loaded. Lori was a few steps behind Andrea, empty-handed, and Daryl could practically see veins protruding from her forehead as she rushed after the blonde.

Lori caught Andrea's shoulder and turned her as Daryl neared them. He was already preparing to put Sophia down and demand she stay out of the way. Sophia, for her part, was doing her best to make Daryl aware that she didn't like what was happening—even though she wasn't entirely aware of what was actually taking place.

"I am NOT putting up with you today!" Lori barked.

Andrea laughed.

"That's why the hell we were moving to Woodbury," Andrea said. "We were hoping not to have to put up with you ANY day!"

Daryl didn't need to know what had started the argument, though he could have ventured a few guesses. He didn't need to know how long it had gone on or what, exactly, had triggered this particular piece of a probably long-term disagreement.

He knew that it had escalated, at that moment, about as far as it could go.

And before he could even find it in him in to put Sophia on her feet with her toys and get between the two women, Lori had reached out and slapped Andrea with a pop that very nearly echoed around the prison yard and gave the blonde whiplash.

The expression on Lori's face said she was as surprised at her actions as Daryl felt.

Frozen in his spot for a second, he held Sophia. He only got his mind about him when Andrea threw the box of canned goods in Lori's direction and then, without a word of warning, launched herself at the thin brunette.

Daryl had seen his share of catfights before. His brother had frequented places where people—males and females alike—never minded a good brawl.

And Lori had no choice except to hit the ground with the full weight of Andrea coming down on top of her.

Daryl put Sophia down and barked at her to stay out of the way before he dove in on top of them. Andrea was several good hits into the fight by the time he found a hold to get his hands around her waist, and then under her arms, and he was almost certain that Lori's only defense was to scratch, slap, and pull Andrea's hair.

"Don't make me hurt you!" Daryl growled at Andrea as she fought against being pulled loose from Lori. "Don't make me fuckin' hurt you! Break it the fuck up!"

Daryl was surprised, though, when instead of finding himself being helped, he felt himself practically being lifted and shook loose from Andrea. He stumbled backward as he took his feet again, rather unexpectedly.

Merle was still holding him at the back of his shirt.

"Don't break it up, brother," Merle growled. "Not yet. Been a long fuckin' time comin' an' you gotta let the bitches establish dominance 'fore the hell they move to a new territory."

"Good damned way to start the move to Woodbury," Daryl growled.

"Best damn way," Merle said with a laugh. He was clearly amused by the brawling.

The fight was already wearing down. The two women had gone at each other hard, but they were wearing themselves out quickly. Merle let go of the back of Daryl's shirt.

"Now we can break that shit up, lil' brother. I'll give you a hand. Time to get on the road—so you best go get your mouse soon as we get the two of them in different damn cars."


	46. Chapter 46

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Saying the car was cramped for five adults and one toddler was an understatement. However, it was running, dependable, and gassed up. It would get them to Woodbury, and the ride wasn't that long. They could make do until they got there.

Carol accepted Sophia from Daryl as soon as she was jammed tightly into the backseat, beside Merle who had decided to ride in the middle with Andrea on his left. There was no need to wrestle with a seatbelt. Daryl wouldn't drive quickly for the very real possibility that Walkers could stumble out into their path. In the front, Hershel sat in the passenger's side seat while Daryl drove.

It wasn't until Carol was settled in that she even leaned up enough to notice that Andrea was huddled into Merle with a bloodied face—and his choice for sitting in the middle was evidently to get his left arm around her and pat her with that hand to comfort her. Carol tensed at the sight of the blood.

"What happened?" She gasped out, her breath catching over the sight of what looked like very evident scratch marks down Andrea's face.

"Relax, Mouse," Merle offered. "Them ain't Walker scratches." He laughed to himself. "And don't go thinkin' I done it neither."

"What happened?" Carol asked again, unsatisfied with Merle's answer.

"Catfight," Daryl offered from the front seat.

"It was a little dispute," Hershel offered with a laugh.

There was, in Carol's opinion, too much joviality surrounding Andrea's injuries. Carol tried to lean to examine Andrea, but her position and the cramped nature of the car wouldn't allow it—especially not with her toddler in her lap.

"Andrea—are you OK? What happened?" Carol asked.

Hershel reached back and offered a handkerchief in Andrea's direction. Andrea sat up enough to take it.

"I'm fine," she offered quietly.

"Tired," Merle said, lifting his hand as much as Andrea's body allowed to pat her. "Took it out of her. Went at that bitch like a true damn hellcat broke loose."

"Went at who?" Carol asked. "What happened?"

She was only just beginning to realize she must have missed a great deal. She'd been packing things, cleaning their cell, and locking things up. She'd spent all morning getting things ready for them to go and helping Hershel to pack up everything that he would need on the trip. She'd come out only just before they'd left, and Daryl had met her with a kiss and had offered her his arm at the prison. He'd said nothing about a fight—and neither had anyone else—while he'd led her down to where the others were waiting for her to load up into the car.

"Lori," Andrea breathed out. She sat up and mopped at her face with the handkerchief that Hershel had given her. "Fucking Lori."

Merle laughed between them. Sophia, at least, was much more interested in balancing on Carol's lap and playing with Hershel between the seats instead of listening to what was being discussed.

"Lori did that to you?" Carol asked.

"Was the damn slap heard 'round the world," Daryl said. He laughed to himself and rolled down his window before he lit a cigarette. Andrea reached her hand up and tapped him, so he passed back the pack and lighter for her to light her own.

"You slapped her?" Carol asked.

Andrea hummed at her while she lit her cigarette and rolled down her own window.

"She slapped me," Andrea said.

"Andrea chucked a fuckin' whole box of canned food at her ass," Daryl said.

Merle snorted and laughed to himself.

"Like taste the motherfuckin' rainbow, bitch," Merle offered.

Hershel laughed and Sophia, thinking that her Papa was amused by her and nothing else in the world, laughed heartily at him with a bit of a put-on laugh for his benefit.

"Then she jumped on her like a spider monkey," Daryl offered.

"Y'all just let this happen?" Carol asked.

"Had to happen," Merle said. "Was bound to happen. Sooner or later. Daryl tried to drag 'em apart, but once they was locked up, it was best to just stand back and let it happen."

"Are you OK?" Carol asked, leaning around Merle to get the best look at Andrea that she could. Merle rubbed Andrea's back with his hand and squeezed her shoulder.

"She's gonna be just fine," Merle said. "Gonna visit the infirmary in Woodbury. Get cleaned up. But—you shoulda seen the other guy."

"Think she mighta broke Lori's nose," Daryl offered.

"It might not have been broken," Hershel said.

"You let it happen, too?" Carol asked, moving to pass Sophia between the seats as Hershel struggled to turn well enough to take the toddler who was determined to ride in the front.

Hershel laughed, perhaps, at her tone of accusation.

"I don't condone violence," Hershel said, "when it can be avoided. I also know, however, that there are times that it cannot be avoided. In those situations, it's simply necessary to step back and let things work themselves out."

"She's coming to Woodbury," Andrea said with a sigh.

Carol's stomach churned a little uncomfortably. She had somewhat hoped that their few months in Woodbury would be an escape from Lori. Maybe, even, it would give Lori the opportunity to do a little soul-searching and maturing as she was faced with running some things at the prison. As it turned out, they were very likely going to be teaching the people of Woodbury how to take care of themselves—since many of them had clearly never learned—while Lori stood by and acted like she'd never been taught, either, how to do more than rely on everyone else.

And, now, it appeared they'd be dealing with the after effects of whatever it was that had happened between Andrea and Lori.

Carol sat back in her seat, not pressing for more information at the moment.

Everything, she knew, would work itself out—it simply had to do just that; work itself out.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"We'll just mark the rooms," Daryl said. "Then we'll haul everything up here."

Daryl pushed open the door to the apartment and Carol followed him inside. Merle and Andrea had taken an apartment on the floor above them. The ground floor apartments were larger and intended for families. This apartment would belong to Carol and Daryl for the duration of their stay in Woodbury. It could remain theirs, if they wanted it, as something like a vacation home—as long as they vowed to spend some time each year helping Woodbury to grow and thrive. They were doing the same thing at the prison, opening up new cell blocks and cells, to encourage the growth of both communities and true sisterhood between both communities. Eventually, the people of Woodbury had the intention of expanding their walls—just as they did at the prison—and part of that expansion would swallow up a nearby suburb. When that took place, there would be houses open for those with larger family units.

For now, Carol and Daryl would take the apartment with Hershel in tow. The old man's only other option would be to take a place by himself, so they thought it was better that he stayed with family. Beyond that, he was wonderful with Sophia, and they would always welcome having a grandfather close-by.

"Four bedrooms," Daryl said. "Luxury apartment. That's what they said."

Immediately, Carol could believe that. The apartment was already furnished—at least partially—and she didn't know if that was Daryl's doing or if it had simply been furnished beforehand. It didn't matter, really.

The floors were wood. The walls were mostly white. Someone had cleaned the place recently because it smelled clean and the blinds were raised on the windows to let the sun in. The kitchen was just off to the side from the entranceway, and the living room was lovely. It was cozy.

"Is that—fireplace real?" Carol asked.

Daryl put Sophia down and the little girl went running down the hallway toward some of the bedrooms. She was always happy to stretch her legs and explore new spaces.

"Yep," Daryl said. "Wood burning. It's the highlight of this old building. All the apartments have 'em. Share chimneys up on top. That's why I requested this place, specific, after Tyreese told me about it."

Carol smiled to herself. She looked out the window and into the street below. They were on the ground level, and outside people were busy. The trucks they'd brought were pulled directly to the street outside the building. Some things were already being unloaded.

"Help me figure out these rooms," Daryl said. "So I know what'cha got in mind."

Carol walked quickly from room to room. The apartment had two full baths, a kitchen, and a great deal of storage. Of the four bedrooms, she and Daryl quickly identified the master bedroom. Hershel chose one room for himself, leaving two that were close together to be the rooms for Sophia and, eventually, the child they hoped to welcome in the spring.

None of the bedrooms were furnished, but Daryl assured Carol that there was plenty of furniture to be had—they simply had to put in request for what they needed as soon as the trucks were unloaded. Hershel stayed in the apartment with Sophia, and Carol followed Daryl out into the street to start claiming the items that belonged to them as they came off the trucks and were piled up.

Most of what they brought were packed bags and odds and ends. They were easy enough for Carol to carry inside, so she went about moving what she could while Daryl directed those who were unloading the trucks and helped to carry the larger items.

The last item that Daryl had to carry inside was Sophia's bed—since it had never been folded up.

Carol waited on him, in the street, until he returned. While she was waiting, Merle came out the front door of the apartment building and started grabbing for items that she knew belonged to him.

"Where's Andrea?" Carol asked.

Merle hummed at her in question, but he answered her a second later like his inability to answer her at first had come from some kind of mental lag or distraction.

"Down the street at the infirmary," Merle said. "Sent her down once she picked out the bedroom."

"How many bedrooms does your apartment have?" Carol asked. She reached for a few things she knew to be Andrea's to offer a hand.

"Two," Merle said. "That whole floor's got two rooms each. They nice lil' places. She likes the bathtub."

"I want to see it," Carol said.

Merle looked at her like she confused him. He looked at her like he'd never understand her. More than likely, he'd never understand women.

"I don't care if you look at the bathtub, Mouse," Merle said, tucking something under his right arm before he grabbed something else with his left hand. "Not long as you get the door."

They met Daryl on the way inside, and he offered to grab a few things before he followed after them.

Merle and Andrea's apartment was much smaller than Carol and Daryl's, but it was built with the same concept in mind. It was exactly above Carol and Daryl's apartment, and they obviously shared a chimney. There were two bedrooms—one more than Andrea and Merle would really need—and the bathroom was quite large. The oversized bathtub there made it clear to see why Andrea was excited about it.

"Andrea ain't back?" Daryl asked.

"Ain't hardly been gone," Merle said. "I guess—she oughta be comin' back soon. Took some time scrubbin' the dried blood off in the sink with that handkerchief she had and a couple rags she found in the closet. Didn't wanna walk down the street with blood all over her face like that an' scare the shit outta nobody. You can bet to hell Rick's woman didn't scrub all that off her face 'fore she went."

He laughed, clearly amused.

"What were they fighting over?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarette. His brother disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a glass that they were both clearly going to use as an ashtray, since Merle also gestured to his brother to give him a cigarette. Daryl gladly did so and lit another for himself.

"They ain't said," Daryl said. "Come out the prison bitchin' at each other. Hit the yard an' Lori slapped the shit outta Andrea. I mean slapped the fuck outta her. Andrea decided she weren't takin' that shit no more. I told you she threw a whole damned box of canned vegetables at Lori 'fore she jumped on her ass and just went to swingin' like she was gonna beat her to death."

"You didn't ask?" Carol asked.

"Hell, Mouse," Merle said with a laugh. "It weren't like it really mattered. Once the fightin' was happening, it was best to just let the shit finish. When we split 'em up, they was both about worn out."

"You'd know better'n we would, anyway, what they got to fight about," Daryl offered.

Carol sighed.

"The question isn't really what they have to fight about—they've been fighting about everything. It's more—what was it that made them start fighting this time."

Carol didn't have much time to think about it before the front door of the apartment creaked open and Andrea came in. She looked back and forth between the three of them before she pocketed the key she was carrying.

"Did I miss all the fun?" She asked.

Her face was showing signs of bruising, and the deep scratches were bandaged over.

"Truck's unloaded all the way around," Merle said. "We was just talkin' about you—about why you was on that woman like white on rice."

Andrea sighed.

"I don't want to talk about it right now," Andrea said.

"You don't gotta," Merle said. "Right now—all you gotta do is figure out what the hell you want around here. We'll all go down an' put in a request for furniture. Then—whenever the hell you feel like it, you can satisfy your lil' friend's curiosity over why you was playin' Whack-A-Mole with that woman's face."

He laughed again, clearly still amused, and abandoned the glass on a table before he waved at Daryl.

"Come on, brother," he said. "Let's go downstairs. We'll meet the women in the street."


	47. Chapter 47

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"She was talking about Merle," Andrea said. "About Daryl, too."

They were unpacking smaller items in Carol and Daryl's apartment while everyone else was out. They'd all gone down to pick out furniture, and Daryl had taken Sophia with him so that they could show her a few of the things that Tyreese had told him about would appeal to children, before they went to make their furniture selections.

"What's new?" Carol asked with a laugh.

"She was feeling especially pissy this morning," Andrea offered. "It was just—constant. You know those sideways comments she makes like she's just trying to have a conversation with you or give you advice or something."

"She was very helpful," Carol said, "when I was first with Daryl. She was very concerned about me and my well-being."

Andrea hummed.

"And she's concerned with my well-being," Andrea said. "Merle and I are only together, after all, because of our circumstances. The problem with that is—she isn't wrong."

"Who isn't in a relationship because of circumstances? Paint it however you want—no matter how your relationship happened, or when, or where, it's all about circumstances. You happen to meet each other when you were both receptive to a relationship. You both decided you liked each other enough to try whatever it was that you tried. You both decided that you wanted to pursue whatever you decided to pursue. I married Ed because of my circumstances. I married Daryl because of my circumstances. The circumstances might have been different, but they were all circumstances."

Andrea smiled at Carol. It was a smile that curled just the side of her mouth upward.

"Do you need some water?" Andrea asked. "You look a little warm."

Carol's face was warm. She could feel anger, or frustration, burning her cheeks and face. She checked herself and took a deep breath.

"She just makes me so…"

"Pissed off?" Andrea asked.

"Sometimes," Carol ceded with a laugh. "So, you and Merle, and Daryl and I, are only together because of our circumstances. What else happened? Because I know she's said that enough that you weren't set off by just that."

"She got on her soapbox about men. Because, you know, even though she and Rick agreed to this separation because they thought it was the best thing they could do, it's still all Rick's fault in the end."

"Everyone knows that, I think," Carol said with a laugh. "Especially Rick."

"She's said it enough," Andrea said.

"So that upset you enough for this fight to break out?" Carol asked. She laughed to herself. "I guess I still don't understand. What was enough to make this happen? Or was it just a straw that broke the camel's back?"

"It wasn't just Rick," Andrea said. "She got started on the fact that Daryl and Merle were the same way. The funny thing is, she didn't really say what 'way' that was, it was just that—they were horrible people. You know? We'd see."

"We'll see," Carol mused. "I've heard it before. I'm still waiting to see."

"I told her that they weren't. I told her to stop talking about Merle and Daryl. She did the damn Lori thing about acting surprised that it was getting on my nerves. Making that damn face."

"I know exactly what face you're talking about," Carol said with a laugh. "So surprised that—you're upset. She didn't mean anything by it, after all."

"You're taking it way too personally," Andrea agreed. "She was just having a conversation, friend to friend. She's almost fucking offended that you want her to shut up. So, of course, she doesn't shut up. She just keeps going."

"And so, she kept going," Carol supplied.

"So, she kept going," Andrea said. "We'd see. Merle and Daryl hadn't done anything because of the whole closed community feel or the whole social view of things or…to be honest? I wasn't really listening because, by then, I'd just gotten annoyed. It was like this steady stream of bullshit and all that mattered was that when we got to Woodbury—especially after Rick's little end-of-the-world divorce and practically choosing to abandon his whole family fiasco…"

"Rick didn't abandon anyone," Carol offered quickly. Rick was not her favorite person at all. In fact, she really didn't have too much love for the man. Still, she could hardly stand by and let him be slandered for something that wasn't, in all actuality, true at all. "Rick—might have gone a little crazy at times. And I'm not saying that Lori was wrong for wanting some distance from him or that he was wrong for wanting distance from Lori—I mean I'd want distance from both of them, but…"

"I didn't mean that I agreed with her," Andrea interrupted. "I meant that's what she was saying. From what Hershel said, they both made the choice that they weren't any good together anymore, but they were both going to do what was best for the children. They were going to both split their time with the kids and keep their distance from each other, when it was necessary, so that Carl and Judith didn't have to deal with the negativity and tension."

"But Lori's spreading the story that Rick abandoned her and the children?" Carol asked.

Andrea hummed and nodded her head.

By now they'd unpacked everything they could and both apartments were clean. Without discussing it, they'd both made their way over to the couch to sit and wait for the men, that Lori had been so concerned about, to get back with the truck that would bring the furniture and some extra hands to get it into the first and second story apartments of the two-story apartment building.

"She doesn't know how to be anything if she's not being the victim," Andrea said. "But please don't think that I fought Lori over Rick, because I could really care less what she had to say about him. She just went on to say that—Merle and Daryl would probably get here and, before we knew it, they'd find someone else. They'd move on. Leave us behind. That's what men did. And I just couldn't fucking take it anymore. So, I made the comment that—clearly they weren't interested in just any woman they could have because neither of them had ever made a move toward her. And I shouldn't have said it, I know I shouldn't have said it, but then I just couldn't help myself…and I said that they probably didn't want it because it had caused so many damn problems since she mentally manipulated Shane and Rick into being pretty damn close to crazy."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You didn't say that to her," Carol said.

"I did," Andrea said. "And a bunch more than I can't remember. I might've used Merle's 'golden pussy' line. I don't even know what I said. I was just so pissed off that…that she was determined that as soon as there were more women around, they were just going to go off like dogs. So, then I just walked away and she followed me. She slapped me for what I said…which I probably deserved."

"OK," Carol said, "OK—you probably deserved it."

"I did," Andrea agreed.

"But I'm still kind of glad you said it," Carol said, not bothering to swallow back the humor she felt.

"Even though I deserved it, though, I just didn't feel like dealing with it," Andrea said. "I'd been hauling boxes and fucking—every fucking thing that needed to be loaded on two trucks. I nearly loaded those two trucks while everyone was taking care of other things. And Lori was behind me, most of the morning, carrying the baby, who should probably be walking soon, and talking about how she just didn't rest if it was Beth or anybody else that was holding her or, when she did pick something up, she'd carry like one can of food instead of a box because she so weak or some shit from being anemic and trying to produce milk and I…" She stopped, drew in a deep breath, and blew it out. "I'm getting pissed again. I was just so pissed off. I couldn't stop. It's a little scary. After she slapped me, I just saw red. And then she's on the ground and I'm thinking—I could kill her."

"I'm glad you didn't," Carol said. She held her hand up in Andrea's direction. "Not because she wouldn't have maybe deserved it, but because I know you. You would've beaten yourself up over it for the rest of your life if you'd killed her."

Andrea hummed and was quiet for a moment.

"The worst part about it is," she mused, "that I'm not entirely sure she's wrong."

"I don't think that Daryl's going to run away because we're in Woodbury," Carol said. She laughed to herself. "I mean—I guess I could always be wrong, but that just doesn't feel anything like Daryl."

"I wasn't talking about Daryl," Andrea said.

"You and Merle were in Woodbury before," Carol pointed out. "He was here before you. He had his choice of the women here."

"And, from what I understand, he enjoyed quite a few of them," Andrea said, raising her eyebrows at Carol and reaching a hand up to touch gingerly at the bandage on her cheek. It was clear that the deep scratches beneath the bandages—clearly Lori's greatest weapon of defense had been her fingernails—were at least a little uncomfortable.

Carol got to her feet without saying anything to Andrea, disappeared a moment to the bathroom, and found the few items they'd unpacked into the medicine cabinet from a bag. They shared things like medicines and medical supplies with the whole group. However, every now and again, Daryl was in the habit of squirreling things away. They had a stash that was rather impressive of various medical odds and ends. Carol might have suggested to Daryl that they share the supplies, but she knew that it made him feel happy and secure to have it.

There had been too many times, after all, when he'd felt they'd been denied something simple that they needed. He'd dealt with those feelings of "doing without" in the best way he could. He'd pocketed items as he'd gone on runs. Two for the group, one for his family. That was his motto in most things.

Carol didn't say anything to him because she understood him. She understood how desperately he wanted to provide for her and Sophia. She understood that a bottle of Tylenol tucked away in a drawer could be the difference between Daryl sleeping at night and Daryl walking the floors and worrying over a fever that he feared would occur in the future and would never be controlled.

She would never make him feel like a thief or a crook for doing what his heart told him was right. And she would fight, just as surely as Andrea had fought Lori that day, anyone who tried to make him feel bad.

Carol palmed a couple of the Tylenol and filled a glass with water in the kitchen. The water in Woodbury was supposed to be clean enough to bathe in and wash things in, but they still boiled the water that they drank. Whoever had cleaned the apartment had left several jugs of boiled water with a note that they should "enjoy" the water after their trip because it was already boiled. It was cooled as well.

Carol brought the Tylenol to Andrea and, when the blonde did her best to refuse it, Carol practically forced her into swallowing the pills.

"I know how stingy they can be," Carol said.

"I'll be fine," Andrea said.

"You will," Carol said. "But—there's something to be said for being comfortable, too, when you have the opportunity. Back to Merle—if you feel worried about it, maybe you should talk to him."

"Merle freezes when he doesn't want to talk about something," Andrea said. "He deflects. Walks away. Shuts down. You name it."

"Let him walk away," Carol said. "Sometimes—that's what they have to do. And when he comes back, talk to him again."

Andrea laughed.

"And when he walks away again?" Andrea asked.

"How many times he walks away doesn't matter," Carol said. "He comes back. That means that, eventually, he's going to talk. I think—with Daryl? Sometimes he goes quiet like that and I think that he's just as interested to see if I'm still going to be there when he comes back, literally or figuratively."

"Daryl's a little sweeter than Merle," Andrea said. She laughed to herself. "A lot sweeter than Merle."

"And I don't think either of us needs to forget that Merle was hurt longer than Daryl," Carol said. "And—maybe there's something to be said for being the oldest. For having some sense of responsibility in the hell that they knew."

"You're saying—he can't help it," Andrea said.

"And I think you already knew that, or you wouldn't still be with him," Carol said.

"I didn't mean to really, actually love him," Andrea said. She wiped at her eye with the pad of her thumb and drank the water to give herself something to do.

"But now that you do, maybe you need to work on starting to be honest with him," Carol said. "And trust him."

"You and Daryl have it all figured out," Andrea offered.

"Not at all," Carol said quickly. "And we both—have our days. I need him to make me feel better. Secure. Convince me I'm not crazy, or wrong, or…and he has his days. Sometimes it's like a fear that comes out of nowhere. In Dixon, I'm learning, that can look like anger. But it's anger that—doesn't cause hurt. It's anger that comes from hurt."

Andrea laughed.

"That's like—Dixon poetry," she offered.

"I have a little more experience than you do," Carol said. "But I've got the younger brother, so the knots might be different. Still—before you let Lori get too deep into your head, maybe you ought to give Merle a chance to comfort you. He can't be that different than Daryl, and…Daryl likes feeling needed."

Andrea laughed to herself again and groaned.

"I was always taught to feel like I didn't need a man," Andrea said. She shrugged her shoulders. "Really—to feel like I didn't need anyone. I needed to learn to be entirely independent. I never liked that idea, though. Not really. We all need people. Now more than ever."

"If he needs to feel needed, and he doesn't feel like you need him…maybe that's when he starts to do stupid things because, really, it's not about you. It's about his needs not being met." Andrea narrowed her eyes at Carol. "I didn't say right or wrong. All men have their bad things, just like all women do. The thing is finding a man whose bad thing is something you can handle. And, believe me, I've seen worse than a man who needed his ego stroked occasionally and needed me to make him feel like my knight in shining armor for—for making me a plate or bringing me something they thought would make my life a little easier."

Andrea sighed.

"You're right," she said. "But—I'll start with profuse praise about asking for the furniture. I'll work my way up to the harder stuff."

"You know," Carol offered, "Merle was really proud of you for winning that fight. Just think how happy he'd be to know it was him you were fighting over."

Andrea's face lightened.

"You think I should tell him?"

"It's the perfect opportunity," Carol said. "And it'll open the door for some of that harder stuff with the perfect introduction."

Andrea smiled.

"Thanks," Andrea said.

"You can thank me by helping me put this place together when they get here," Carol said.


	48. Chapter 48

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I think this is the first Mandrea chapter that I've done in this story. I do enjoy writing Mandrea, and there will be some Mandrea chapters throughout (for anyone who may be unfamiliar with my stories). If you're unfamiliar with my Mandrea writing, you should also know that I almost always write them as a couple with some consistent kinks throughout my fics. Some of that is mentioned here, though there's no explicit smut. There is some teasing, though, and some hints as to their particular likes as a couple.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter. Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"You real stuck on gettin' every damn thing unpacked today, Sugar? Or you reckon that a fuckin' box or two could keep 'til tomorrow?"

Merle was lying in the bed, entirely naked, after his shower. Andrea had showered at least a couple of hours ago. Her hair was already drying with the curled strands of her hair knotting around each other as it tumbled over her shoulders. She'd been as careful as she could be to keep the bandages on her cheek from getting wet, but they were at least a little damp in places—mostly drying now.

She'd been carefully and meticulously folding their clothes as she unpacked them. They'd brought so little from Woodbury, and they'd been allowed to select some clothing from the storage at the prison. Andrea wanted to care for the clothing to preserve it. Her feelings, now, about possessions were much different than they had been when she'd been at the height of her career as a lawyer and had some money to burn.

Her feelings about a lot of things were different than they'd once been. And, she'd noticed that, lately, they seemed to be in an almost constant state of flux.

Her feelings about the man in the bed, for instance, were dramatically different than they'd once been—and they changed a little more with each passing day. Perhaps they even changed with each passing hour.

Andrea carefully finished folding the cotton shirt in her hand, and delicately placed it in the drawer with the other clothes before she pushed the drawer closed and turned around. Just seeing her close the drawer and turn around made Merle smile. He patted the bed beside him—his body resting on the elbow of his right arm. The cover was already pulled back on the bed to reveal the space left for Andrea, and Merle rubbed his hand over the sheet where he intended for her to lie down.

He liked for her to be on that side—where he could rest his body on his right arm and touch her with his left hand.

Andrea had often wondered what kind of lover he would be if he still had two hands to work with, because he already knew how to hit all the right buttons with just the one to work with.

She crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back against the dresser. Merle's smile fell, slightly, and his brow furrowed.

"I don't like that look, Sugar," he offered. He patted the bed again. "Come on over here. Lemme get a taste of that sweet little pussy of yours. See if I can't change that expression on your pretty face."

If anyone had told Andrea that she'd find Merle's particular brand of sweet-talking flattering or appealing, she would have called them crazy. Of course, that was among the many things that she felt changing about herself each day.

Andrea relaxed her position, but only slightly. She heard Merle grunt. His smile dropped again.

"You don't want your pussy eat," Merle offered, "then we could talk about what the hell you do want, Sugar, but I ain't never known you to turn down a real good fuckin'."

"I didn't say I was turning it down," Andrea offered. The smile came back, curling up just one side of Merle's mouth.

"Then come on over here and let's talk about the specifics," Merle said. "Ain't every day I see your ass tangled up an' set to beat a bitch to death. My damn dick got hard just watchin' you kick her ass." He laughed to himself. He lifted up the blanket and looked under it. He whistled to himself and laughed. "Would you look at that—fuckin' hard just thinkin' about it. And I been seein' your ass bent over, searching through that box. If I'da knowed you would've appreciated it, and wouldn'ta slugged me like you done that bitch Olive Oyl? I'da come over there and slipped it to you real good, Sugar, while you were sortin' through that box of clothes."

Andrea was surprised at her body's reaction to Merle's mention of coming up behind her, unannounced, and fucking her while she attempted to put their clothing away. She was surprised, really, at the way her body responded to most things Merle did—particularly in the bedroom.

Andrea had never met a man, before, who had been comfortable letting her explore parts of her sexuality that she hadn't even known were there—parts that she might be a little ashamed of outside of the spaces they'd shared together. Merle didn't make her feel ashamed, though. Even when he called her a whore or, choking her some way she'd asked him to, told her that she was nothing but a dirty little slut, he still made her feel like he approved of even her darkest desires. As a show of appreciation, perhaps, for him allowing her to get in touch with a side of herself that she'd pretended didn't exist and that she had buried for most of her life, Andrea was generous with her body and was forgiving of Merle's own twisted desires.

No matter what happened, Andrea had to admit that Merle stopped when he was asked to stop, and he never hurt her beyond that which she requested and allowed.

The freedom he'd given her, really, had her body ready to respond, almost immediately, to even the most passing suggestion from Merle.

"You were going to—fuck me against the dresser?" Andrea asked. "While my back was turned to you?"

The smirk on Merle's face only widened and he sat up in the bed. Andrea let her eyes flick down far enough. Merle was the most well-endowed man she'd ever known—enough so that there were still times that she found tolerating his size, itself, as the biggest test of her sexual stamina. The sheet that hung loosely over his lap did nothing to hide his arousal. He wasn't too concerned with it, though, because he could last long enough to make Andrea tag out—and she had from time to time—and he knew it. Casually, he reached for a cigarette on the bedside table. He lit it, showing off the many abilities he'd adapted in his once lesser hand.

"Sugar—I'll still fuck you against that dresser," Merle said. "If that gets your pussy wet. Hmmm? That what you want?"

"It wouldn't be a surprise, now," Andrea offered.

Merle laughed to himself.

"Then I'll blindfold you," Merle offered. "Let you wander through the apartment blind. Fuck with you a little bit before I decide where and how I'ma fuck you. Take you by surprise, then. That get you wet?" Andrea's pulse picked up. Like he could hear it across the room, Merle smiled to himself. "You like that shit. I don't care. I like that shit. If that's what the hell you want—I'll give it to you. Real good. Just like I know you like it."

"We need to talk, Merle," Andrea said. "I've been—thinking."

"Fuck," Merle muttered, blowing out smoke with an almost choking sound. "People can say it's fuckin' bears, or alligators, or great fuckin' white sharks, but the fact remains that the most dangerous fuckin' thing to a man is a woman that's been thinkin'." Andrea couldn't help but frown to herself. "Out with it," Merle said after a moment, crushing out his cigarette and somewhat tossing the ashtray back at the bedside table with an emotion that seemed to be a mix between disgust and anger. "What the hell is it? You want me to fuck off now? Pack the shit you done put in them drawers an' go find me some fuckin' place of my own—away from you? That it? That what you want?"

Andrea laughed to herself, even though her chest suddenly felt tight like she might cry. She felt her throat tighten, and she felt the prickling behind her eyes of unwanted tears. She shook her head.

"That's the last thing I want, Merle," Andrea admitted.

Merle shifted around. He sat further up in the bed, moved his pillow against the headboard, and sat straight up. His face was drawn up in a frown, but it appeared to be more from concern than anything else.

"The hell is wrong with you, Andrea?" Merle asked.

Andrea touched her face and realized that the unwanted tears prickling behind her eyes had escaped. She had less control over them than she'd imagined she had. They were trailing down her face. She pulled the bottom of the cotton pajama shirt up and used it to mop at her face.

"Come here," Merle said, patting the bed again. This time, the invitation had an entirely different feel about it. The whole room had an entirely different feel about it. Andrea walked over and sat on the bed. She didn't crawl over to Merle immediately, and she kept her back to him for a moment. A strong and familiar arm hooked around her waist and dragged her backward as surely as if she'd been caught by a giant fishing hook. Merle tugged her body backward, sliding her in a seemingly effortless manner across the mattress, until she was resting against him. He moved her hair out of the way, and he kissed her neck, shoulders, and the only part of her back that the cotton night shirt would have made visible to him.

Merle could be tender—he could be remarkably tender—but he kept that side of himself very much under wraps until even Andrea could sometimes forget that it was hidden there, beneath the surface.

Andrea sighed, though, appreciating the soft kisses on her skin and the gentle groping of the strong hand that worked at her muscles to try to relieve a tension that Merle didn't even know how to identify.

"You gonna tell me what the hell it is, Andrea?" Merle asked, resting his mouth next to her ear.

Andrea turned around to face him, and Merle passed his thumb under her eye. He smiled at her—a crooked smile, but a sincere one.

"That salt's gonna burn your cuts, Sugar," Merle said. "Try not to make no more of it."

"It was you that—Lori was talking about today," Andrea said. "When we fought. That was why."

Merle laughed to himself.

"What the hell she want with me?" Merle asked. "I don't give that bitch the time of day."

"She said you weren't reliable," Andrea said. "She said—you were the kind of man that I couldn't count on. That you'd run off as soon as we got here and you saw someone better. Younger. Someone…you wanted more."

"Kittens," Merle offered.

"What?"

Merle laughed to himself and shook his head.

"Kittens," he said. "Like—they ain't even the full-grown pussies. These lil' kittens that's been runnin' around the prison and all. Half haired over an' doin' their best to get someone's attention. Thinkin' they want some war-worn old Tom to come after 'em."

"Do you want a kitten, Merle?" Andrea asked.

Merle laughed to himself. He was balanced back on his elbow, now, as he'd slid down to relax again. Andrea relaxed next to him and watched him as he scratched at the back of his head, his neck, and the stubble where he hadn't shaved that day. The scratching, Andrea knew, had less to do with actual itching and more with releasing nervous energy. Merle had a great deal of nervous energy, and it had to come out some way. She wasn't letting him fuck it out right now, so it had to come out some other way.

"You ain't gonna like to hear this, Sugar, but I wasn't lookin' for a kitten or a full-grown pussy," Merle said. "Not to hang around like a damn house cat. I mean—I'm that war-worn old Tom. I prowl around. I don't curl up in front of the damn fireplace with some lady cat and a whole litter of kittens all my own."

Andrea felt like she'd been punched, hard, in the gut. The sensation made her feel a little nauseous, just as if she'd actually been slugged. She sucked in a breath, but found that the punch to her gut had also been a punch to the sternum, because she couldn't draw air in like she once had. She attempted to scramble from the bed, but she didn't make it far because Merle caught her arm.

In that moment, she realized that every time Merle Dixon let her go when the games between them got too rough and she requested freedom, he'd done so with intention. He was far stronger than she was. She would never escape him if that wasn't what he wanted.

This time, he pinned her down, but Andrea didn't feel threatened. He used his body to hold her onto the bed. To make sure she didn't move away from him. He hovered over her, and shook his head at her.

"That wasn't who the hell I was, Andrea," Merle said. "It weren't. But even old Toms—when they find somethin' good? They hang around. Can't run their asses off from a good damn thing, Andrea. It weren't what the hell I was lookin' for, but that don't mean I'm pissed off I found it. Now you can't run me off—so I hope to hell it was what the hell you was lookin' for. But it weren't no kitten that could do that shit. And there ain't no kitten that could handle this old scraggly asshole." He laughed to himself. Andrea felt him relax. He still had her pinned, but not with the same determination as before. He trusted that she wasn't going to wriggle from beneath him and run away. "You can tell Lori that—if she still don't know." He winked at Andrea. "Don't want me no kitten. Not when I got me a fuckin' hellcat."

He let up a little, when Andrea panted for air, realizing that his body weight pressing fully against her was more than she could handle long-term.

"If I tell you that—I love you," Andrea said. "Are you gonna run, Merle?"

He moved enough to support his body weight on his knees. The only thing that kept Andrea pinned there was her decision not to move, now. He brushed her hair back and caressed her face with his rough fingertips. He kissed her, and she enjoyed the kiss. She did her best to make sure that he knew that she did. He smiled at her, sincerely, when the kiss broke.

"I love you," Merle said, so sincerely that it made Andrea's chest ache again, this time in a different way. "I'ma say it just 'cause it seems to matter to you right now, Sugar. But don't go thinkin' I'ma be some kinda fuckin' sap all the time that goes skippin' through damn streets singin' you love songs and shit."

Andrea smiled at him. She shook her head.

"I'd never expect that," she said. "Though—maybe I'd appreciate hearing it, every now and again, when there's nobody around."

Merle just laughed to himself and sat up.

"We'll see about it," he mused. "You got any damn thing else you been thinkin' about?"

Andrea smiled to herself.

"Just—that there's an extra pillowcase in there that ought to make a pretty decent blindfold," Andrea said. "If you were serious. But I'll need you to tie it on for me."

Merle smiled and reached for his cigarettes.

"Hurry up and go get it, Sugar," he said. "And old Merle'll even give your ass a head start to try an' get away. I'ma go ahead and tell you, though. If I chase pussy? I always catch it." He winked at her and Andrea's heart drummed in her chest.

"I'm counting on it, Merle," she assured him, as she went for the pillowcase so their game could begin.


	49. Chapter 49

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here!**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"No. No, thank you, Daddy," Sophia responded to what Daryl felt like was his fiftieth offer to get her out of the tub and dry her off.

"Sophia—I know you like the bathtub," Daryl said.

"I like it!" Sophia declared loudly, grinning at Daryl. He smiled to himself. She looked so much like Carol—her features, her smile, and the way she crinkled her nose with absolute bliss—that it made his whole body feel warm to see her happy. And she was happy. The apartment had two bathrooms. The bathtub was much larger than the little metal washtub where Sophia had taken most of her baths, and the guy at the community storage building had been so happy to see a child—there were so very few children these days, though they all hoped to remedy that—that he'd offered over a large assortment of toys for Sophia. In those toys, she'd found a practical zoo of bathtub-safe animals, and they were all either learning how to swim or lounging around the proverbial watering hole provided for them by the bathtub. She had already made Daryl name, for her, what each animal was at least seven or eight times.

"Sweetheart, your water's gettin' cold," Daryl said. "And your Daddy's gettin' tired."

She furrowed her brows at him.

"You tired?" She asked.

"I'm tired," Daryl confirmed.

"You can sleep, Daddy. You can go sleepy."

Daryl shook his head.

"I can't," he said. "Not until Sophia goes to sleep. I can't leave you in the bathtub all night. You can't even climb out."

"I can climb out," Sophia assured him.

"You can't," Daryl said. "Too high."

"Papa Hershey," Sophia offered. The second greatest thing about the apartment in Sophia's mind, so far, was that Papa Hershel had moved in with them and, unlike the prison, their communal space was much more communal and much less separated by bars and corridors. Sophia liked that Hershel was nearby, at all times, and it was evident that the old man liked it, too. Daryl thought, in the span of an afternoon, he looked younger than he had in ages.

"Papa Hershel's tired," Daryl said. "Done gone to bed. He's sleepin' already. He ain't gonna come rescue you from the bathtub, so it's time to get out."

"No," Sophia begged. "No, thank you, Daddy!"

Daryl sighed. He reached his hand over and touched the water. It was rapidly cooling down.

"You gonna freeze to death," Daryl said. "I think you shiverin' an' your lips is turning purple." Sophia shook her head. She tried to ignore him and to continue playing with her toys. "Tell you what. You can have a bath tomorrow, too, how's that?" Sophia began to rock, from side to side, on her bottom and sing a song with randomly strung together words to the zebra and warthog that appeared to be kissing or headbutting each other. "Come on, Soph—let's get your warm pajamas on, all right?"

She couldn't have been ignoring him any more entirely. It was impossible. She was ignoring him so well that Daryl, had he not known that nothing had happened, might have wondered if he'd disappeared entirely.

"All right," he said. "I'm sorry." He dipped his hand in and moved the rubber cover that kept the water in. It had been a rushed acquirement when they'd realized that the drain leaked when they tried to stop it with its own mechanism.

Sophia was unaccustomed to what a drain meant. Her little metal tub didn't have a drain. It was tipped over and the water spilled out, running down the prison yard or into the drain in the shower rooms. Either way, it did not function the same as this tub, with the slow seeping away of her precious, cold, dirty bathwater.

The drain was grated, and wouldn't allow for any of her new bath toys to be lost in some kind of drain oblivion. Instead, as they floated down toward the drain, they came to rest on top of the drain. It was the slow procession of all her animals to the drain that caught Sophia's attention. She watched it with red, tired eyes and a half-open mouth, looking very much like Carol when she concentrated on something that was new and just a little outside of her realm of knowledge and understanding.

She grew increasingly worried as more of her animals came to land on the tub bottom, and she forgot about splashing in the last remaining puddles as the water slipped away. Daryl let her experience the whole event. He waited, patiently, as she took in everything that was happening and had happened. Then she looked at him, brow furrowed and mouth open.

"Daddy! My bath!"

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to try not to laugh at her. This was serious to her. He wanted to handle her personal tragedy with the attention and gravity that it required.

"Bath's over," Daryl said. "Water went down the drain. It's gone now."

She moved her mouth, while she watched his, like she was studying his words. She did that, sometimes, when she was learning new words. He assumed that, maybe, she also did that while learning new concepts. In a whisper, imperceptible beyond the whistle of words, she repeated some part of what he'd said back to herself.

Her eyes were red. Her eyelids were purple. She was tired—too tired. It had been a long day and moving, no matter what anybody thought, was a big deal for someone so small.

"Get it back," Sophia said, her words coming out between a command and a question. There was a profound amount of sadness behind her words, and when she blinked, her eyes hesitated a little to come open.

Daryl smiled at her, as sincerely as he could, and reached his hand out to stroke her face. The simple touch was soothing enough that Sophia closed her eyes. Daryl knew, if he could get her to cooperate, she would be asleep, perhaps, before he'd even gotten her fully tucked into her bed.

"Can't get it back," Daryl said. "Not tonight. But there's gonna be a new bath tomorrow, Sophia. Now, come on. You cold and Daddy's tired. Let's get you dry an' put on your warm pajamas. Then we can get us some lovin'."

Sophia yawned at, apparently, the mere thought of warm pajamas and a little snuggling.

Daryl got up, groaning a little at his body's protests over having been on the floor for so long.

"You OK, Daddy?" Sophia asked, getting to her feet with much more ease and holding onto the side of the tub. Daryl laughed to himself.

"Just fine," Daryl said. "Just gettin' old, Soph. Your Daddy's an old man." Daryl unfolded Sophia's towel. "Hold your arms up," he commanded. She did as he asked, and he wrapped the towel around her. As soon as he pulled her up, out of the tub, he sat a soggy Sophia on the potty that they'd brought from the prison. She knew the drill, but she was sleepy enough that she used the bathroom with her eyes closed and seemed to rely on Daryl to hold her up while she did. She mumbled a "done" at Daryl, and he wiped her before gathering her up, towel and all, and hugging her against him. Immediately, she dropped her head hard against his shoulder. He smiled to himself and rubbed her back. "You done good, goin' potty, Soph. Just like you ought to. Let's get Mama and get ready for bed."

In the living area, Carol was reclined on the couch with a book that she was reading by lamplight. She looked up as Daryl stepped out of the bathroom.

"We're ready?" She asked.

"When you are," Daryl said.

Carol got up and led the way to Sophia's little bedroom. They'd put it together in sort of a hurry, but the girl didn't have too much in the way of possessions. They'd gotten her a big girl bed, but they'd kept her pen. She'd sleep in her pen tonight, so there wasn't too much newness in her life at one time, and then they'd start transitioning her to the big bed as she settled in. They'd gotten her a dresser to hold her clothes, and they'd gotten a large box that was serving as a toybox, though Daryl didn't know what it had once been. It was some kind of crate and, if he could acquire some paint, he intended to paint it for Sophia. They also got a rocking chair, and they full intended to have one in each of the extra bedrooms—since, eventually, they'd begin to convert the empty bedroom into a nursery for the barely-there little one that Carol carried.

Daryl swayed his body, rocking Sophia, while he waited for Carol to get the diaper, pajamas, and lotion that she wanted. Sophia, with her head leaned against Daryl's shoulder, hummed at him from time to time and fell silent the rest of the time. She was fading fast, and he knew that.

Daryl put her on the bed, where Carol indicated, and Carol kissed her face and accepted the hug that Sophia reached up to give her. She leaned on her knee on the bed, for a moment, and remained in the stooped position that Sophia demanded to get the affection that she wanted from her mother. When Sophia was satisfied with her hug, she released Carol and allowed her mother to slather her down with the sweet-smelling lotion while quietly talking to her.

Daryl liked to listen when Carol would talk to Sophia during these types of simple, daily activities. These quiet conversations—whispered words from Carol to Sophia—weren't like the normal little chats that they had throughout the day. During these times, when Sophia was quiet and almost asleep, Carol would sometimes quietly narrate what she was doing. "We're going to put your little ducky pajamas on. You like the duckies and they'll be warm—so warm, my baby—while you sleep." Other times, she whispered quiet little confirmations to the girl. "Mama love you so much. You're such a special little girl, Sophia. You're so sweet, and everybody loves you. You're so smart, Sophia."

It didn't matter, exactly, what she said to the girl. The quiet message remained the same, no matter the words: Sophia was loved, dearly, and she was important enough to be treated with respect and kindness. Sometimes, hearing Carol murmur to the girl in that way, it reminded Daryl that Sophia might have been unlucky enough to grow up around someone who would treat her with very little respect, and very much like she was little more than an unwanted animal.

It hurt Daryl, too, to realize that Carol thought that nurturing her daughter the way she did, and being sure to build her up as much as she could, was likely a response to having lived much of her life being torn down and wanting to make sure that her daughter never experienced that. Daryl understood that, on a personal level, and it was one of the reasons that he was careful in his interactions with his daughter, but it also made his chest ache to simply remember that there was once a man who didn't know how Carol should be treated, and so he'd mistreated her for years.

When Sophia was slathered in lotion, and tucked lovingly into her pajamas, Carol had kissed her on the forehead and picked her up to hug her close to her, much like she used to do when she'd been an infant. Sophia hugged her back and made a sleepy request for "milk," though it was evident to Daryl that Carol would no sooner get situated with her before she'd be asleep. Still, Carol didn't argue. She carried Sophia over and settled into the rocking chair.

"I'll snuggle with her a few minutes after she gets some milk if you wanna take a bath. That chair sit OK?" Daryl asked, keeping his voice low, and watching as Carol got Sophia comfortable to nurse.

"Perfect," Carol said. "We hardly fit, though. Sophia's getting so big."

"Uh uh," Sophia whined, not bothering to spit out the nipple she'd acquired. She was clearly not ready to "get big" at this moment. Daryl's heart fluttered in his chest. Sometimes, Sophia wanted to be a "big girl" and it seemed like she was just a day or two away from being grown at the rate she wanted to mature. Other days, she seemed to crave her babyhood, and she had special requests for snuggles and play that reminded him of when she'd been much smaller.

Whether it was right or wrong, Daryl indulged her either way. He knew that the day would come when she simply couldn't be mistaken for a baby any longer. Even the softness of her toddlerhood would disappear. He knew the day would come, too, when she wouldn't want to have moments of being loved like a baby by her parents. Still, he couldn't say that he wouldn't, if she asked him, gather her into his arms, even then, to hug her close to him and tell her a story about something ridiculous like the difference between prison gnomes and forest gnomes, just because, for whatever reason, she needed that time with him.

Daryl didn't remember having much of a childhood. He couldn't recall many of those hugs and indulgences. But he could remember, very distinctly, times when his requests for such things had been outright refused or, being somewhat impossible, he'd been sent to get whatever affection he could from a big brother who, denied a childhood of his own even more so than Daryl had been, would do his best to convince his baby brother that there was still some goodness in the world somewhere.

Daryl wanted to be sure that Sophia had every bit of childhood magic that she could possibly get from life.

He walked over and stroked the little girl's hair while she half-nursed at her mother's breast.

"She's still little," he offered quietly. Sophia hummed in agreement, her eyes dancing behind her eyelids. Daryl smiled at the soft expression that crossed Carol's lips as she regarded her daughter with the purest love possible. "And we gonna let her be little for a while longer, at least. For as long as she needs it."


End file.
